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Canadian  Initituta  for  Historical  Microraproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  da  microraproductions  historiquas 


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a 


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Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


n 

D 
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a 


D 


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D 


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[\/\  Showthrough/ Transparence 

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Includes fuppiLr n;  itary material / 
Compren  j '!  j    la..  riel  suppl6mentaire 

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obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 

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possible. 


This  Hem  la  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below  / 

Ce  document  eat  film6  au  taux  de  rMuctlon  indique  ci-deaaoua. 


lOx 

14x 

18x 

22x 

26x 

30x 

■_■ 

12x 

16x 

20x 

24x 

9Rv 

99ir 

Tht  copy  filmtd  h«r«  has  b««n  raproducvd  thanks 
to  tha  ganarosity  of: 

National  Library  of  Canada 

Tha  imagas  appaaring  hara  ara  tha  bast  quality 
possibia  considaring  tha  condition  and  lagibility 
of  tha  original  copy  and  in  kaaping  with  tha 
filming  contract  spacif icationa. 


Original  copias  in  printad  papar  eovara  ara  fllmad 
baginning  with  tha  front  covar  and  andlng  on 
tha  last  paga  with  a  printad  or  illustratad  impras- 
sion,  or  tha  back  covar  whan  approprlata.  All 
other  original  copiaa  arm  filmad  baginning  on  tha 
first  paga  with  a  printad  or  illustratad  impras- 
sion.  and  anding  on  tha  last  paga  with  a  printad 
or  illuatratad  imprassion. 


Tha  last  racordad  frama  on  aach  mieroflcha 
shall  contain  tha  symbol  — ^  (maaning  "CON- 
TINUED").  or  tha  symbol  V  (maaning  "END"), 
whichavar  applies. 

Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  ara  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hend  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


L'exemplaire  I'tlmi  fut  reproduit  grice  I  ta 
ginttotixt  da: 

BIbliothSque  nationals  du  Canada 


Les  images  suiventes  ont  *xi  reproduites  avac  la 
plus  grand  soin.  compta  tenu  de  la  condition  at 
da  la  nettet«  de  l'exemplaire  film*,  er  en 
eonformit*  avac  las  conditions  du  contrat  da 
filmaga. 

Lea  axamplairaa  originaux  dont  la  couvarture  en 
pap  er  eat  imprim«e  sont  filmis  en  commencant 
par  lo  premier  plat  at  an  tarminant  soit  par  la 
derni4re  paga  qui  comporta  une  empreinte 
d  impression  ou  d'iilustration.  soit  par  la  second 
plat,  salon  la  caa.  Toua  les  autrea  axempiaires 
originaux  sont  film«s  en  commencant  par  la 
pramJAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impreasion  ou  d'iilustration  at  en  terminant  par 
la  darniAre  paga  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  das  symboles  suivants  spparaitra  sur  la 
derniire  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbols  — ^  signifie  "A  SUIVRE"   le 
symbola  V  signifie  "FIN". 

Les  caitas.  planches,  tableaux,  etc..  peuvent  «tre 
Tilm*s  A  des  taux  da  reduction  diff*rents. 
Lorsqua  la  document  est  trop  grand  pour  «tre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clich*.  il  est  film*  *  partir 
de  I'angia  sup*rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  *  droite, 
at  da  haut  an  bas.  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'imagea  nicessaira.  Las  diagrammas  suivants 
illustrent  la  m4thode. 


MKWXOrr   MSOUJTION  TIST  CHAUT 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No   2| 


^     APPLIED  IIVHGE 


165:5   East   Ma,n   Street 

Bochester.   Ne»   York        ,,609       US* 

("6)   482  -  0300  -  PhoM 

(716)  288-  5989  -  Fo» 


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mmmm 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  BALLAD 


''W   1Q  r^"  U  k  r^l 


9        «A>  ^ 


MACKEMZi 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  BALLAD 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  BALLAD 


BT 

W.  ROY  MACKENZIE 

VBorasBOM  or  nrousB,  waihoiovoh  onTuuiTT 


PRINCETON  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

PRINCETON 

LONDON :  HUMPHREY  M ILFORD 

OXFORD  UNIVERSITV  PRESS 

1919 


PRftl 


Al  IH- 


t^^C\^\,\<^l\^   yj^ 


PRIHCBTOR  UMIYIMITT  PBB88 

PrittMtoB,  N.  J. 

PoUUhed,  181S 
Printed  in  the  United  Btste*  of  Amerio* 


To  E.  S.  M. 


PREFACE 

There  used  to  bi  a  literary  affectation — a  harmless  and 
quite  transparent  one — which  expressed  itself  in  a  prefa- 
tory announcement  that  one's  book  had  been  written,  not 
for  an  astute  and  difficult  public,  but  for  one's  own  private 
solace  and  the  amusement  of  one's  small  and  charitable 
circle  of  friends.  Though  I  have  no  mention  of  taking 
sanctuary  in  this  timid  pretext  I  have  nevertheless  a  ve- 
hement realization,  induced  by  the  disouieting  experience 
of  reading  the  proof-sheets  of  the  ensuing  book,  that  I 
must  fashion  some  (explanation  that  will  seem  to  account 
for  a  conspicuous  absence  of  plan.  The  truth  is  that  my 
initial  purpose  was,  not  to  write  a  book,  but  merely  to  i> 
produce,  for  any  purpose  that  might  ultimately  be  served, 
a  few  of  my  successive  adventures  with  the  ancient  singers 
of  ballads  whose  society  I  have  eagerly  courted  during  my 
summer  vacations  in  Nova  Scotia.  The  chepters,  then,  in 
which  I  follow  a  dim  trail  of  chronological  sequence  are 
the  expression  of  my  first  complete  intention.  But  the 
popular  baUad,  even  whea  it  is  pursued  through  printed 
collections  and  song-books,  impresses  one  in  many  ways  by 
virtue  of  its  variable  and  elusive  personality,  and  when  its 
character  is  fiu*ther  enriched  by  a  continued  association 
with  its  natural  companions,  the  singers,  he  would  be  dull 
indeed  of  soul  who  co.Jd  pass  it  by  without  attempting  to 
capture  something  of  the  secret  of  its  habits.  As  a  matter 
of  fact  I  had  not  yet  completed  my  brief  chr'  iological  se- 
quence of  chapters  before  I  had  become  int  led  in  t'le 
questions  which  have  led  to  the  topical  discut;sions  of  the 
later  chapters.  These  questions  I  have  taken  up  in  the  or- 
der in  which  they  have  occiured  to  me.    After  the  fifth 

vii 


Preface 

chapter  I  give  one  faint  sign,  and  one  only,  of  my  latent 
regard  for  order,  and  that  is  the  scarcely  avoidable  act  of 
placing  a  picture  of  the  decline  of  ballad-singing  at  the  end 
of  the  book.  But  I  must  not  utterly  deny  myself  the  right 
to  that  guerdon  of  praise  which  is  so  earnestly  desired  by 
every  man  who  writes  for  publication.  My  constant  pur- 
pose has  been  to  portray,  as  faithfully  as  in  me  lies,  the 
popular  ballads  which  it  has  been  my  high  privilege  to  en- 
counter in  their  natural  state  and  the  reserved  b-it  simple 
and  profoundly  human  old  men  and  women  who  are  still 
maintaining  them  in  that  state.  It  is  this  purpose  that  is 
responsible  for  the  inconsistency  of  my  plan,  and  though 
the  reader  may  esteem  consistency  a  jewel  he  must  needs 
agree  that  my  purpose  was  a  commendable  one. 

The  person  who  sets  out  in  these  latter  days  to  collect 
and  preserve  the  scattered  ballads  that  are  stiU  living  upon 
the  earth  must  prepare  to  search  wide  and  far,  and  must 
make  sure  that  he  is  not  easily  to  be  discouraged.  Even  m 
communities  where  ballads  are  occasionally  sung  they  are 
rarely  known  to  the  children  of  the  present  generation; 
nor  need  one  turn  hopefully  to  the  fathers,  for  the  cares 
of  this  world  and  the  deceitf  ulness  oi  riches  have  in  a  prac- 
tical age  grown  up  in  their  minds  and  killed  the  good  seed 
of  the  ballads  which  was  lightly  sown  there  in  the  days  of 
their  youth;  but  with  a  somewhat  larger  prospect  of  suc- 
cess one  may  seek  out  and  question  the  grandfathers,  if 
haply  they  have  survived  to  a  day  which  has  provided  so 
many  duties  and  amusements  to  supplant  the  simple  recre- 
ations of  a  bygone  age.  I  speak  out  of  my  own  almost 
uniform  experience,  and  the  persons  who  appear  and  re- 
appear in  the  following  pages  are,  with  the  fewest  excep- 
tions, men  and  women  of  three-score  years  and  upwards. 
My  collecting,  to  be  sure,  has  all  been  done  in  Nova  Scotia, 
and  the  situation  there  is  not  necessarily  typical  in  all  of  its 

viit 


Pbeface 

details.  There  are  still  some  districts  where  ballads  are 
sung  by  children,  but  they  are  far  removed  from  the  world, 
and  the  children  are  not  children  of  the  twentieth  century. 

My  motive  in  writing  this  introduction  is  the  convention- 
ally double  one — to  confess  with  an  ostentatious  humility 
the  obvious  defects  in  the  book  to  follow,  and  to  coEmiend, 
with  an  equally  ostentatious  moderation,  its  merits.  I  shall 
now  proceed  to  the  second  phase.  My  book  is  almost  free 
from  taint  of  theory,  and  in  its  pages  darkness  is  not  ren- 
dered visible  by  any  attempt  of  mine  to  solve  the  ballad 
problem.  This  is  a  negative  cause  for  pride.  The  posi- 
tive and  authentic  cause  oi  which  I  boast  is  the  admittance 
which  has  repeatedly  been  granted  me  to  the  companion- 
ship of  a  class  of  human  beings  almost  unVnown  and  now 
swiftly  disappearing  from  society.  It  is  with  this  com- 
panionship and  its  fruits  that  I  am  solely  concerned,  and 
the  pride  which  I  have  confessed  is  abated  only  when  I 
compare  my  recollections  with  the  pictures  of  them  which 
have  issued  from  my  pen. 

In  my  first  chapters  I  insist  with  a  good  deal  of  solemn 
unction  upon  the  difficulty  of  persuading  the  ballad-singer 
to  open  his  doov.  But  the  comfort  of  the  fireside  is  only 
enhanced  for  him  who  has  first  cooled  his  heels  upon  the 
doorstep,  and  in  the  chiaroscuro  of  my  ballad-seeking 
memories  the  element  of  toil  and  hazard  serves  chiefly  to 
accentuate  my  ensuing  delight  in  the  substantial  reward 
of  fresh  ballads  to  add  to  thr  growing  tale.  The  grossest 
impediment  in  the  whole  enterprise,  probably,  is  the  me- 
chanical task  of  writing  down  ballads  at  lightning  speed. 
The  singer  can  rarely  repeat  his  song  slowly  enough  to 
permit  one  to  write  at  a  normal  rate,  and  if  I  were  to  begin 
the  canvassing  of  another  district  I  should  be  compelled  to 
recognize  the  advisability  of  forcing  myself  to  the  hideous 
preliminary  task  of  mastering  the  science  of  shorthand. 


IX 


Pbeface 

But  even  while  driving  my  fingers  to  the  benumbing  la- 
bour of  copying  sixty  words  to  the  minute  I  have  many 
times  experienced  a  swelling  of  the  bosom  at  the  loud  ad- 
miration that  I  was  evoking  by  my  chirographic  skill,  a 
gift  most  lightly  valued  and  utterly  undistinguished  in  the 
conimunity  of  reading  and  writing  modems  which  I  in- 
habit dimng  the  nine  months  of  the  college  year.  There 
comes  into  my  mind  at  this  moment  a  recollection  of  one 
afternoon  when  I  was  tearing  along  over  the  blank  sheets 
in  a  frenzied  endeavor  to  keep  pace  with  an  old  man  who 
could  repeat  his  ballads  only  if  he  kept  his  eyes  tightly 
closed  and  proceeded  without  a  single  pause.  His  wife 
and  her  gossip  from  the  next  farmhouse  sat  by,  and  while 
I  accomplished  herculean  tasks  with  my  pen  they  regarded 
me  with  undisguised  wonder  and  delight.  "Will  ye  look 
at  that  man  writin'I"  cried  the  goodwife.  "He's  settin' 
there  as  easy  and  comfortable  as  if  he  was  eatin'  he's  din- 
ner, an'  see  the  way  them  songs  is  bein'  writ  downl" 

"Yes,  yes,"  interrupted  the  neighbour  with  shrill  ec- 
stacy,  "he  jist  sets  there  smokin'  he's  pipe,  an',  O  Lord, 
but  aint  he  drivin'  he's  fingers  over  that  paper  I" 

I  once  did  hold  it,  as  our  statists  do, 
A  baseness  to  write  fair,  and  labour'd  much 
How  to  forget  that  learning,  but,  sir,  now 
It  did  me  yeoman's  service. 

I  shall  presently  be  charged  with  having  acquired  from 
my  ancient  companions  the  senile  habit  of  garrulity.  In 
truth,  I  find  that  I  have  little  to  say  by  way  of  preface  that 
I  could  not  say  with  equal  propriety  in  any  of  the  chapters 
of  my  rambling  book— with  one  important  exception, 
which  is  this.  I  should  never  have  had  the  persistence  to 
?  ep  my  work  going  but  for  the  aid  and  good  cheer  of  my 
coadjutors,  and  of  these  I  shall  mention  three,  though  I 


Pbeface 


can  afford  them  only  the  smallest  return  for  their  services 
by  a  meagre  prefatory  acknowledgment.  From  the  be- 
ginning of  my  labours  my  wife  has  had  a  far  greater  in- 
terest in  the  work  and  a  far  greater  faith  in  the  ballad- 
yielding  possibilities  of  Nova  Scotia  than  I  have  had. 
Many  a  time  I  should  have  allowed  the  whole  matter  to 
lapse  but  for  her  contagious  enthusiasm  and  her  practical 
aid  in  placating  suspicious  persons  who  would  never  have 
sung  unless  they  had  felt  inclined  to  do  so  although  the 
heavens  had  threatened  to  fall.  My  cousin,  Dr.  Owen 
Cameron,  has  also  accompanied  me  on  innumerable  jour- 
neys to  the  huts  where  poor  men  lie.  In  my  narration  of 
these  journeys  I  have  striven  to  direct  attention  steadily 
upon  the  singers  and  have  almost  uniformly  designated 
the  visiting  party  by  the  colorless  and  half  impersonal  pro- 
noun "I",  but  the  reader  may  substitute  "the  doctor  and 
I"  as  often  as  he  chooses.  Many  of  the  finest  ballads  *hat 
I  quote  and  many  of  the  singers  to  whose  rich  personali- 
ties I  do  such  scanty  justice  would  never  have  appeared  in 
my  pages  at  all  without  his  help.  And  my  aider  and  abet- 
tor in  everything  that  I  have  done  in  the  service  of  tbe 
popular  ballad  has  been  Professor  Kittredge.  In  my 
student  days  he  infected  me  with  something  of  his  own 
broadly  human  interest  in  folk-lore,  he  showed  such  gen- 
erous enthusiasm  over  my  first  scanty  "finds"  that  I  was 
forthwith  emboldened  to  look  for  more,  and  he  persuaded 
me  to  attempt  my  first  brief  essays  in  describing  my  ex- 
periences. If  my  "little  book"  of  reminiscences  is  of  in- 
terest to  these  and  to  my  other  coadjutors  it  shall  not  fail 
to  justify  itself  in  my  sight. 


August,  1919. 


W.R.M. 


CONTENTS 

Preface  v 

Chaptxb  Onx 
The  Last  Refuge  of  the  Ballad 1 

ChafteeTwo 
The  Way  of  the  Collector 19 

Chapter  Thbkb 
My  First  Ballad  Hunt 88 

Chapter  FouB 
The  Discovery  of  Bob 42 

Chapter  Five 
Rimes  of  An  Ancient  Mariner 68 

Chapteb  Six 
Genuine  Antiques v 85 

Chapter  Sstsn 
Types  of  Current  Ballads 127 

Chapter  Eight 
The  Inconstancy  of  the  Ballad 185 

Chapter  Nine 
Native  Songs  and  Traditions 196 

Chaper  Ten 
The  Decline  of  Ballad  Singing 227 


^ 


CHAPTER  ONE 


The  Latt  Rxfuob  op  thx  Ballad 

The  persons  faintly  shadowed  forth  in  this  record  are 
of  a  type  which  has  long  been  absent  from  the  places 
where  the  business  of  the  world  is  transacted,  and  which  is 
now  disappearing  from  the  face  of  the  earth  itself.  Each 
year  brings  its  increase  of  scholars  and  students  to  whom 
popular  lore  is  a  vital  record  of  the  beliefs  of  their  fore- 
fathers, but  the  years  produce  few  people  in  our  time  who 
accept  as  credible  reports  the  tales  and  songs  which  schol- 
ars designate,  somewhat  condescendingly,  as  "folk-lore." 
It  is  gradually  becoming  impossible  for  the  individual  to 
remain  unaffected  by  the  main  currrat  of  events.  The 
countryside  has  been  brought  to  the  gates  of  the  town, 
and  the  newspaper  which  appears  on  the  breakfast-table 
of  the  urban  tradesman  has  travelled  by  noon  to  the  shep- 
herd's cot  and  the  fisherman's  hut.  Now,  it  is  axiomatic 
that  he  who  reads  the  newspaper  shall  cease  to  be  a  per- 
petuator  of  folk-lore.  Th  aine  qua  non  of  the  latter,  in 
our  time  at  least,  is  an  aloofness  from  the  world  of  prog- 
ress, a  mellow  retirement  where  the  events  of  a  bygone 
day  are  rather  more  near  and  familiar  than  are  the  noises 
of  the  great  city  which  is  understood  to  be  flourishing  in 
its  iniquity  somewhere  far  beyond  the  possibilities  of  man's 
travel.  In  this  retreat  the  stories  of  yesterday  are  de- 
veloped today,  and  are  not  dispossessed  by  a  set  of  new 
sensations  freshly  imported  by  the  morning  paper.  And 
even  those  accounts  which  filter  in  from  the  great  wor'.fi 


Tix£  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

are  distilled  through  the  limbeck  of  the  oral  report  until 
they  take  on  something  of  the  true  nature  of  traditional 
legend.  Let  me  give  a  brief  example  or  two,  modem  in- 
stances of  the  way  in  which  history  was  fashioned  for  our 
ancestors  in  the  dim  ages. 

In  one  of  the  sequestered  vales  of  Nova  Scotia  there  is 
living  at  the  present  time  an  ancient  sage  by  the  name  of 
Peter  Langille.  His  age  is  ninety-two,  his  habits  of  body 
and  mind  are  active  and  vigorous,  and  his  tongue  is  en- 
dowed with  the  gift  of  a  simple  and  pictiu«sque  eloquence. 
In  his  youth  and  prime  he  foUowed  the  sea,  or  rather  the 
sea-coast,  in  one  of  the  little  schooners  that  used  to  ply  their 
busy  trade  along  the  northern  shores  of  Nova  Scotia. 
Now  in  his  green  old  age  he  goes  fishing  when  the  fishing 
is  good,  and  when  it  is  not  he  reposes  in  dignified  ease  by 
his  £reside  or  in  his  dooryard,  where  he  may  usuaUy  be 
found  having  a  crack  with  one  of  the  neighbors  or  ponder- 
ing alone  upon  the  riddle  of  the  painful  earth.  He  is  one 
of  my  friends  and,  in  the  brief  glimpses  of  the  summer 
vacation,  one  of  my  associates. 

One  forenoon  in  the  early  days  of  the  great  war  I 
walked  over  to  Peter's  cottage  and  inquired  after  the 
news.  "De  British,"  stated  Peter  with  great  calmness, 
"has  won  a  tremendious  victory  over  de  Garmans."  I  was 
eager  for  details  of  the  combat,  but  Peter  was  not  to  be 
rushed.  "Set  down,"  he  said,  "an'  fill  yer  pipe,  an'  I'll  give 
ye  de  pertickilars."  Then,  after  I  had  loaded  my  pipe  and 
settled  my  chair  against  the  wall,  he  resiuned.  "De  vic- 
tory," he  explained,  "was  won  by  an  old  Scotch  gineral. 
He  was  at  de  head  of  five  hunderd  men,  all  wit'  dere  guns 
loaded  an'  lined  up  waitin'  for  de  Garmans  to  come  on. 
'Now,'  sez  he  to  he's  men,  'I  wants  ye  all  to  stay  quiet  jist 

S 


The  Last  Refuge  of  the  Ballad 

as  I've  drawed  ye  up,  an'  don't  ye  dar  to  fire  a  gun  till  I 
gives  ye  de  word.'  Purty  soon  de  Garmans  hove  in  sight 
an'  come  ragin'  along  firin'  oflF  dere  guns  as  fast  as  dey 
could  load  dem.  'Keep  still,  boys,'  sez  de  old  gineral,  'tiU 
I  gives  ye  de  word.'  So  dey  laid  low  till  de  Gannans  gits 
wit'in  good  range,  an'  den  de  old  gineral  ups  an'  yells: 
•Now,  boys,  up  wit'  yer  guns  an'  fire  at  dem  I'  Bang  goes 
dere  guns,  every  one  o'  dem  at  onct,  an,  oh  God,  but  didn't 
dey  slaughter  dem  Garmans!  Five  t'ousand  o'  dem  went 
down,  an'  de  ones  dat  was  left  hove  away  dere  guns  an* 
made  fer  de  woods." 

To  an  American  reader  this  stirring  report  will  sound 
like  a  foolish  bit  of  fiction  stimulated  by  patriotic  fervor 
in  the  mind  of  an  illiterate  countryman,  a  tale  full  of  sound 
and  fury,  signifying  nothing;  but  to  the  Canadian  who  is 
mindful  of  the  early  pages  in  his  country's  history  it  will 
mean  something  more.  There  are  certain  chapters  in  the 
political  history  of  every  country  that  are  known  only  to 
the  esoteric  circle  of  readers,  but  the  great  military  ex- 
ploits of  a  nation  are  familiar,  in  one  form  or  another,  to 
every  member  of  that  nation.  In  Canada  it  is  only  the 
student  of  affairs  who  can  give  you  the  story  of  Federa- 
tion, but  every  peasant  there  has  his  version  of  the  battle 
on  the  plains  of  Abraham,  the  great  fight  in  which  Gen- 
eral Wolfe  wrested  the  key  of  Canada  from  the  French 
leader  Montcahn  and  paid  the  price  of  victory  with  his 
life.    A  popular  ballad  tells  us  that 


Brave  Wolfe  drew  up  his  men 

In  a  line  so  pritty 
On  the  Plains  of  Abraham 

Before  the  city. 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

And  in  my  own  childhood  I  have  heard  an  old  ship-carpen- 
ter narrate  the  glowing  tale,  which  he  thus  introduced: 
"Gineral  Wolfe  climbed  de  trecipice,  camped  on  de  Plains 
of  Abraham,  an'  prayed  for  night  or  Bluteher  to  come." 
It  must  not  be  supposed  that  I  have  forgotten  old  Peter, 
who  is  sitting  patiently  by  his  kitchen  stove  smoking  his 
pipe  and  musing  on  the  prowess  and  skiD  of  the  British 
soldiers  at  the  front.  I  am  merely  evolving  a  pedantic  ex- 
planation of  Peter's  remarkable  report  of  the  battle,  and 
my  explanation  is  this:  A  story  of  success  to  the  British 
arms  had  ben  reported  in  the  community,  and  in  the  popu- 
lar consciousness  undisturbed  by  alphabetical  symbols  the 
report  bad  taken  on  the  outlines  of  a  great  British  victory 
long  celebrated  in  song  and  legend.  The  "old  Scotch 
gineral,"  in  short,  had  done  exactly  what  Wolfe  had  done 
when  he  drew  up  his  men  to  face  the  oncoming  battalions 
of  the  French  under  Montcalm. 

In  this  simple  tale  we  have  an  iUustration  of  the  whole 
progress  of  folk-lore.  The  reports  of  the  present  are 
fashioned  in  the  mould  of  popular  history,  and  there  is  no 
recourse,  as  in  the  learned  world,  to  the  sanctified  author- 
ity of  the  printed  document.  The  great  composite  of  fact 
and  legend  wrought  by  the  ballad-maker  and  the  popular 
historian  has  been  produced  in  divers  ways,  and  in  its 
mingled  warp  and  woof  there  are  strands  brought  from 
many  far  countries.  No  student  of  folk-lore  need  be  re- 
minded, for  instance,  that  the  popular  ballads  frequently 
present  unauthorized  versions  of  the  tales  of  Holy  Writ, 
and  in  Nova  Scotia  Biblical  history  often  escapes  from  the 
Calvinistic  fold  and  wanders  in  curious  garments  among 
untutored  folk  who  receive  theu-  tales  only  through  the 
true  popular  medium  of  oral  transmission.    In  such  cases 


The  Last  Refuge  op  the  Ballad 
it  comports  itself  in  a  way  that  would  be  quite  new  and 
strange  to  anyone  who  is  imperfectly  acquainted  with  the 
processes  of  legend. 

There  comes  to  my  mind  a  memory  of  one  rainy  after- 
noon  that  I  spent  in  the  lonely  cabin  of  "Little  Eph" 
which  IS  the  aflFectionate  nickname  employed  in  Tatami- 
gouche  to  designate  old  Ephraim  Tattrie.  Little  Eph 
was  vahantly  combating  the  gloom  of  the  outer  world  by 
smgmg  shanties,  ballads,  and  other  "songs  of  irood  life  " 
and  one  of  them  was  "The  Battle  of  AhiuL" 

Come  aU  you  Britons,  I  pray  give  ear 
To  these  few  lines  I've  brought  you  here. 
To  these  few  lines  I've  brought  you  here', 
The  victory  gained  at  Ahna. 

Cho.    Sing  tantinaray  ri  til  di  day 
Sing  tantinaray  ri  til  di  day 
To  these  few  lines  I've  brought  you  here. 
The  victory  gained  at  Ahna. 

It  was  on  September  the  twentieth  day, 

In  spite  of  all  salt  dash  and  spray 
We  landed  safe  or  c-;e  Crimay 
All  on  the  route  for  Ahna. 

Cho.    Sing  tantinaray,  etc. 

All  night  we  lay  on  the  cold  ground. 
No  shade  or  shelter  to  be  found. 
And  while  with  rain  we  were  ahnost  drowned 
To  cheer  our  hearts  for  Ahna. 

Cho.    Sing  tantinaray,  etc 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

Next  morning  a  burning  sun  did  rise 
Beneath  the  eastern  cloudless  skies, 
When  our  great  chief  Lord  Raglan  cries, 
"Prepare  your  march  for  Alma." 

Cho.    Sing  tantinaray,  etc. 

When  Alma's  heights  did  heave  in  view 
The  stoutest  hearts  it  would  subdue 
To  see  the  Rooshians'  monstrous  crew 
On  the  towering  heights  of  Alma. 

Cho.    Sing  tantinaray,  etc. 

But  when  the  heights  we  did  command 
We  boldly  fought  them  hand  to  hand. 
The  Rooshians  could  no  longer  staad 
Oiu*  British  charge  at  Alma. 

Cho.     Sing  tantinaray,  etc. 

The  Rooshians  to  Sebastopol  fled 
Leaving  their  wounded  and  their  dead. 
They  thought  next  day  the  river  nm  red 
With  the  blood  was  spilt  at  Alma. 

Cho.    Sing  tantinaray,  etc. 

The  English  I  have  heard  them  say 
They  lost  ten  thousand  men  that  day. 
While  thirteen  thousand  Frenchmen  lay 
In  their  bloody  gore  at  Alma. 

Cho.     Sing  tantinaray,  etc. 

This  song  is  a  paean  of  triumph,  an  exultant  ode  rathei 
than  a  plain  narrative  of  the  fight,  and  Li'^tle  Eph  quite 

6 


The  Last  Refuge  of  the  Bali.ad 

properly  felt  thttt  it  devolved  upon  him  to  furnish  more 
stark  details  than  the  song  by  itself  afforded.  "I'll  tell 
ye,"  he  explained,  "how  dat  great  victory  over  de  Roo- 
sWans  was  gained.  King  WiUiam  was  leadin'  de  English, 
an'  along  about  de  end  of  de  afternoon  dey  had  de  Roo- 
shians  purty  near  licked,  but  not  quite,  an'  jist  den  de  sun 
started  to  set.  Down  went  King  William  on  he's  knees 
an'  prayed  to  God  to  hold  de  sun  still  fer  a  little  while 
longer.  Den  he  jumped  onto  he's  feet  an'  grabbed  he's 
sword  and  went  at  dem,  an'  God  held  de  sun  whei«  it  was 
till  de  Rooshians  was  well  licked  an'  on  de  run  like  a  drove 
of  sheep.  An*  as  soon  as  de  fight  was  over  de  sun  went 
down." 

A  few  pages  back  I  felt  constrained  to  offer  a  scientific 
exphmation  of  old  Peter  Langille's  report  of  the  battle 
"somewhere  in  France,"  but  that  was  because  the  actual 
background  of  Peter's  account  was  a  bit  of  history  which 
is  the  conmion  possession  of  Canadians  rather  than  of 
Americans.  As  a  teacher  of  English  literature  I  have 
learned  that  one  must  not  lightly  assume  that  those  who 
read  books  have  a  common  background  of  Biblical  lore, 
and  I  have  therefore  some  reason  to  suspect  that  I  should 
render  Little  Eph's  tale  more  luminous  by  the  addition  of 
a  marginal  gloss;  but  I  shall  pay  my  readers  the  compli- 
ment of  taking  it  for  granted  that  to  do  so  would  be  quite 
superfluous,  and  if  I  make  it  necessary  for  a  chance  reader 
to  look  up  his  reference  for  Eph's  exposition  I  shaU  at 
least  be  doing  him  no  harm. 

These  brief  excerpts  from  the  conversations  of  Peter 
and  of  Eph  are  merely  random  illustrations  of  the  point 
of  view  constantly  maintained  by  the  persons  who  sing 
popular  ballads  and  to  whom  superstition  and  legend  are 


The  Que8t  of  the  Ballad 

as  the  morning  newspaper  is  to  their  more  progressive 
fellow-creatures.  Such  persons  are  now  exceedingly  rare, 
and,  as  though  they  realized  their  value  in  a  world  which  is 
soon  to  lose  them  altogether,  they  often  make  themselves 
most  difficult  of  access,  but  they  are  nowadays  the  only 
true  possessors  of  that  precious  gift  handed  down  from 
ancient  times,  the  song  and  story  of  the  unlettered  and 
imaginative  folk.  Behind  the  shelter  of  their  closed  doors 
they  sing  popular  ballads  which  disappeared  from  public 
view  many  years  ago,  and  which  in  many  cases  have  come 
down  to  them  through  centuries  of  singing  and  recitation. 

My  childhood  was  spent  in  a  district  which,  as  I  now 
know,  was  a  rich  unworked  mine  of  English  and  Scottish 
popular  baUads.  By  kboring  intermittently  in  this  dis- 
trict for  the  last  six  or  seven  years  I  have  painfully  gath- 
ered a  collection  which  is  to  me  more  precious  than  much 
fine  gold;  but  the  specimens  in  this  collection  have  been 
found  by  minute  search  in  strange  and  secluded  places,  by 
exploring  the  depths  of  the  forest  and  descending  into  the 
caves  of  the  ocean.  Of  the  people  who  live  in  the  various 
communities  that  I  have  ransacked,  the  great  majority 
have  neither  heard  of  these  ballads  nor  have  ever  suspected 
the  hidden  powers  of  the  persons  who  sang  them  for  me. 

In  my  youthful  days  there  was  one  ballad  which,  by  a 
sort  of  accident,  emerged  from  the  secret  places  where 
ballads  were  lurking,  and  which  was  captured  and  ex- 
hibited in  civilized  quarters  as  a  vastly  amusing  curiosity. 
This  was  "The  Butcher  Boy,"  a  song  which  by  virtue  of 
its  lugubrious  handling  of  a  pathetic  tale  made  a  special 
appeal  to  nurse-maids,  scullery-wenches,  and  sentimental 
ship-carpenters.  But  this  species  of  pv>pularity  would 
never  have  raised  it  from  the  subliminal  region.    The  pro- 


The  Last  Refuge  OF  THE  Ballad 
cess  was  accomplished  in  a  much  more  effective  way.    A 
humble  but  resourceful  man  of  ease  taught  it  to  his  small 
son  and  basely  instigated  the  hitter  to  prostitute  the  an- 
cient  practice  of  minstrelsy  by  singing  it  to  anyone  who 
would  give  hrni  a  penny  for  the  performance.    The  lad  so 
lustily  advertised  his  commodity  that  it  soon  became  a 
regular  amusement  in  the  village  to  traffic  with  him  on  the 
street  comers,  and  many  persons  who  knew  nothing  and 
Wired  as  much  about  baUads  learned  this  one  and  related 
It  as  a  fine  bit  of  unconscious  humor.     I  have  recently 
copied  It  down  from  the  singing  of  one  who  regarded  it 
with  senousness,  and  shall  now  present  it  in  order  to  illus- 
trate the  sort  of  qualities  that  cause  the  ballad  to  be  re- 
garded with  merriment  in  civilized  communities.    Those 
who  read  it  wiU  be  inclined  to  laugh  rather  than  to  weep, 
and  wiU  thus,  perhaps,  be  able  to  understand  the  reticence 
of  the  present-day  singer  who  loves  and  honors  his  baUads. 

In  London  town,  where  I  did  dwell, 
A  butcher  boy  I  loved  him  well. 
He  courted  me  for  many  a  day, 
He  stole  from  me  my  heart  away. 

I  mind  the  time,  not  long  ago. 
He'd  follow  me  through  frost  and  snow. 
But  now  he's  changed  his  mind  again. 
He'll  pass  my  door  and  he  won't  come  in. 

There  is  an  inn  in  that  same  town, 
And  there  my  love  he  sits  him  down. 
He  takes  a  strange  girl  on  his  knee. 
And  tells  her  what  he  once  told  me. 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

But  I  can  tell  you  the  reason  why: 
Because  she's  got  more  gold  than  I. 
But  gold  will  melt  and  silver  fly. 
She'll  see  the  day  as  poor  as  I. 

I'll  go  upstairs  and  make  my  bed. 

"There  is  nothing  to  do,"  my  mother  said. 

My  mother  she  has  followed  me, 

Saying,  "What  is  the  matter,  my  daughter  dear?' 

Oh  mother  dear,  you  Lttle  know 
What  pains  or  sorrow  or  what  woe. 
So  get  a  chair  and  sit  me  down. 
With  pen  and  ink  I'll  write  all  down. 

She  wrote  a  letter,  she  wrote  a  song. 
She  wrote  a  letter,  she  wrote  it  long. 
On  every  line  she  dropped  a  tear, 
At  every  verse  cried,  "Willie  dearl" 

Her  father  he  came  home  that  night 
Enquiring  for  his  heart's  delight. 
He  went  up«^tairs,  the  door  he  broke. 
He  found  her  hanging  on  a  rope. 

He  took  a  knife  and  cut  her  down. 
And  in  her  bosom  these  lines  he  found: 
"Oh  what  a  foolish  girl  was  I 
To  hang  myself  for  a  butcher  boy. 

"Go  dig  my  grave  both  wide  and  deep. 
Put  a  marble  stone  at  my  head  and  feet. 
And  on  my  grave  place  a  turtle  dove. 
To  show  the  world  that  I  died  of  love." 


10 


Th£  Last  Rkfuos  of  the  Ballad 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  insist  that  this  ballad  waa  com- 
posed with  the  utmost  serioumess  and  with  tiie  most  com- 
plete  sympathy  for  the  poor  maid  whose  aflPections  were 
basely  trifled  with  by  the  thoughtless  and  deb<mair  butcher 
boy.     Furthermore,  it  was  composed  for  persons  who 
would  take  a  precisely  similar  view  of  the  case,  and  who 
would  agree  with  tiie  composer  or  composers  in  feeling 
that  the  language  employed  for  the  setting  forth  of  the 
tragedy  was  fitting  and  dignified.    Presently,  however,  it 
falls  into  the  hands  of  people  who  see  somethMg  inherently 
comic  in  the  spectacle  of  a  girl  bewailing  the  perfidy  of  a 
mere  butcher's  apprentice,  and  who  have  read  magazines, 
newspapers,  and  other  refined  forms  of  literature  suffi- 
ciently to  conclude  that  the  language  of  the  ballad  is 
quaint,  old-fashioned,  and  absurdly  naive.    Small  wonder, 
then,  if  the  few  people  who  know  this  ballad  and  others 
equally  old-fashioned,  and  who  regard  them  with  real  af- 
fection and  esteem,  should  be  extremely  chary  about  sub- 
jecting them  to  the  merriment  of  unsympathetic  strangers 
in  the  outer  world. 

If  I  had  been  bom  fifty  years  earlier  I  might  have  seen 
many  a  ballad  flaunting  itself  bravely  in  the  public  haunts 
of  men.  In  my  time,  however,  and  out  of  the  scores  of  old 
songs  that  I  have  discovered  in  one  way  or  another,  "The 
Butcher  Boy"  is  the  only  one  that  has  thus  ventured  out 
of  its  hiding-place;  and  it,  as  we  have  seen,  was  betrayed 
and  sold  by  one  who,  according  to  the  unwritten  code  of 
the  ballad-smger,  should  have  constituted  himself  its  guar- 
dian and  protector.  The  singer  himself  rarely  takes  the 
pains  to  inquire  into  the  causes  lying  back  of  his  determined 
reticence.  He  knows  that  in  the  old  days  he  was  ap- 
plauded and  envied  for  his  dramatic  power  to  arouse  pity 

11 


!l 


The  Qdkt  or  tbi  Bulao 

JI^.I''^  "^  "^  r»°*  """»■»••««>  in  Uter  d.y,  the 
^*«We  „d  th.  oce-ianj  .«rt««.  which  W.S^ 

«erf«i  the  rtroofc  old  emotion..    The*  «  rtuk  f«u 

Witt  .  cnie  innrtence,  and  he  Kldom  ado  for  an  «i.Cr 
t-oj,  though  the  «,pl«„,io„  i.  ^  ,„  to^r     "^ 

una  very  obviou.  truth  that  simple  amusement.  «„ 
b.  honestly  appraised  only  by  the  .iSipr^of  » 

musement.  but  we  eamiot  accept  them  h,  the  sSrit  of 
«K  p.r«»s  for  whom  they  we«  originaUy  phmnS  We 
~«m  enhre «cori  with  the spiH,  of  Stev«C?^hiir: 
twden  of  Verses,"  composed  by  m  educated  and  ex. 

Who  adopted  the  Unguage,  not  of  the  chfld.  but  of  the  lor- 

hmself  turns  his  hand  to  verse,  we  look  upon  the  result 
mth  merrmient,  derision,  or  tendemess,  „  tte  Z^y 
be.  but  always  with  a  distinct  sen«=  of  ou^  ow^,^„SL'^ 
And  p,ee«ely  rimila,  is  our  attitude  towaT^^p^; 

loMoin  maiden  expresses  her  sorrow  for  the  loss  of  h™ 

were  pUced  in  the  same  tragic  situation.  For  this  ob- 
Vjousfy  enough,  we  sophisticated  per«,„s  .«  not  t^  t 
blamed,  any  more  th«,  is  the  balUd-singer  when  he  saisS 
tte  supenonty  in  our  bearing  «,d  refus^to  ex"o«  ^r 
T^'  merrmient  the  song,  which  he  loves  «,S  honors 

I  Mn,  of  course,  speaking  in  a  general  way  of  the  up-to- 
date,  newspaper-re^Jing  world  and  its  comfortabLLt 

19 


The  Last  Rxfuoe  of  thx  Ballad 

of  ttiperiority.    In  that  world  there  are  many  nominal 
residents,  like  myself,  who  have  developed  for  the  old  tales 
and  songs  of  the  folk  a  love  which  in  its  way  is  no  less 
genuine  than  that  of  the  few  survivors  of  the  folk  them- 
selves.   We  are,  to  be  sure,  strongly  influenced  by  our 
knowledge  of  the  literature  thai  has  been  produced  in  our 
more  conventional  world,  and  constantly  apply  to  the 
poetry  of  the  folk  a  sort  of  criticism  that  would  never  oc- 
cur to  the  composers  or  singers  themselves.    But,  on  the 
other  hand,  we  have  the  advantage  of  being  able  to  view 
this  poetry  in  the  light— though  it  is  often  a  very  dim  one— 
of  the  historical  or  social  atmosphere  in  which  it  was  actu- 
aUy  composed,  whereas  the  singer  himself,  if  his  ballad 
has  come  from  the  distant  past,  can  attach  his  interest  only 
to  its  intrinsic  qualities. 

But  this  plea  that  I  am  making  for  myself  as  a  genuine 
lover  of  popular  ballads  is  not  one  that  would  admit  me  to 
the  confidence  of  the  ballad-singer.    It  is  necessary  that  I 
should  convince  him  in  a  much  more  simple  and  human 
fashion  that  he  has  found  in  me  a  person  with  old-fash 
loned  tastes  and  enthusiasms.    The  difficulties  of  the  bai- 
lad-coUector  have  their  rise  in  the  task  of  discovering  a 
potential  singer,  and  they  have  their  continuance  in  the 
task  of  persuading  him,  ^en  he  is  discovered,  to  reveal 
his  art  to  one  who  is  in  outward  appearance  only  a  super- 
cihous  visitor  from  the  conventional  world;  and  thus  it  de- 
volves upon  the  coUector  to  utilize  all  his  gifts  of  cunning 
and  persuasion  upon  the  slightest  suspicion  that  he  may 
be  m  the  neighboriiood  of  a  concealed  ballad.    In  my  own 
collection  of  "goodly  songs  wid  baUets"  the  one  that  I 
view  with  the  greatest  pride  is  a  composite  version  of  the 
old  baUad  of  "Little  Musgrave."   Under  the  title  of  "Lit- 
is 


Tmt  QuxiT  OF  THi  Ballad 
tie  M.th*  Grove"  it  IumI  been  «mg  to  me.  when  I  wm  • 
tad.  by  tn  old  nuu,  in  the  neighborhood  where  I  hmve  iince 
beenwoi^mgM.coUector.   But  when  I  begin  my  aeuch 
for  balUd.  my  old  friend  had  tran.fermi*S  .Jt,Tl 

month,  my  strictest  inquiries  faUed  to  produce  another 
smger  who  could  repeat  the  performance.   IshaUhareoc 

»«trch.  there  were  at  least  three  persons  in  the  community 

«reoldhaJkd.    The  composite  version  I  shaU  now  quote 

nJ^J^  *  ^"f  *P**""^  °^  *^«  *«^»«»«»  of  folk-lore  that 
he.  hidden  and  guarded,  in  the  memories  of  the  few  sur- 
vivors  of  the  old  singing  days. 

'Twas  on  a  day.  a  high  holiday. 

The  best  day  of  the  old  year, 
men  little  Matha  Grove  he  went  to  church 

The  holy  word  to  hear. 

Some  came  in  in  diamonds  of  gold. 

And  some  came  in  in  pearls. 
And  among  them  all  was  little  Matha  Grove 

The  handsomest  of  them  alL 

Lord  Daniel's  wife  who  was  standing  by, 

On  him  she  cast  her  eye. 
Saying,  "This  very  night,  you  little  Matha 
Grove, 

You  must  come  with  me  and  lie." 

"I  wouldn't  for  the  world,  I  wouldn't  for  my 
life,  ^ 

14 


Tbs  Last  Ripuea  ov  not  Bai±ad 

For  feu-  Lord  Daniel  ihould  hear. 
For  I  know  you  are  Lord  Daniel's  wife 
By  the  ring  on  your  hand  you  do  wear.** 

"Well,  what  if  I  am  Lord  Daniel's  wife 

As  you  suppose  me  to  be? 
Lord  Daniel's  away  to  the  Xew  Castle 

King  Henry  for  to  sec." 

So  the  little  foot-page  was  standing  by, 
And  he  heard  all  that  was  said. 

And  he  took  to  his  heels  to  the  river-side. 
And  he  bended  his  breast  and  he  swum. 

And  when  he  came  to  Lord  Daniel's  bower. 
He  knocked  so  hard  at  the  ring. 

There  was  none  so  ready  as  Lord  Daniel 
For  to  rise  and  let  him  in. 

"What  news,  what  news,  my  little  foot-page. 

Do  you  bring  unto  me?" 
"This  very  night  little  Matha  Grove 

Is  in  bed  with  your  wedded  lady." 

"If  this  be  true,  be  true  unto  me. 

Be  true  you  bring  imto  me, 
I  have  an  cmly  daughter  dear. 

And  your  wedded  lady  she  shall  be. 

"If  this  be  a  lie,  a  lie  unto  me, 

A  lie  you  bring  unto  me, 
I'll  cause  a  gallows  to  be  rigged. 

And  hangM  you  shall  be." 

15 


The  Quest  op  the  Ballad 
So  he  put  the  bugle  to  his  mouth, 
And  he  sounded  loud  and  shrill: 
"If  there's  any  man  in  bed  with  another  man's 
wife, 

It  is  time  to  be  hastening  away." 

So  Lord  Daniel  he  ordered  up  all  his  men. 
And  he  placed  them  in  a  row. 


"What's  that,  what's  that?"  said  little  Matha 
CxTOve, 
"For  I  know  the  sound  so  well 
It  must  be  the  sound  of  Lord  Daniel's  bugle," 

.  ' 

"Lie  still,  lie  still,  you  little  Matha  Grove 

And  keep  me  from  the  cold. 
It's  only  my  father's  shepherd  boy 

That's  driving  sheep  down  in  the  fold." 
So  they  hustled  and  they  tumbled  till  they  both 

And  nothing  more  did  they  say 
Till  Lord  Daniel  stood  by  their  bedside 
Little  Matha  for  to  slay. 

"How  do  you  like  my  bed  ?"  said  he, 

"And  how  do  you  like  my  sheet? 
And  how  do  you  like  my  wedded  lady 
That  lies  in  your  arms  and  sleeps?" 
"Well  do  I  like  your  bed,"  said  he, 

WeD  do  I  like  your  sheet. 
Better  do  I  like  your  wedded  lady. 
That  lies  in  my  arms  and  sleeps." 

16 


The  Labt  Refuoe  of  the  Ballad 

"Get  up,  get  up,  you  little  Hatha  Grove, 
And  some  of  your  clothes  put  on, 

That  it  can't  be  said  after  your  death 
That  I  slew  a  naked  man." 

"How  can  I  get  up,"  little  Matha  replied, 

"And  fight  you  for  my  life, 
^Vh(  a  you  have  two  bright  swords  by  your 
side. 

And  I  have  ne'er  a  knife?" 

"If  I  have  £wo  bright  swords  by  my  side. 

They  cost  me  deep  in  purse. 
And  you  shall  have  the  best  of  them. 

And  I  shall  have  the  worst. 

"And  you  shall  have  the  very  first  blow. 

And  I  shall  have  the  other. 
What  more,  then,  could  I  do  for  you 

If  you  -"^ere  my  own  bom  brother?" 

The  veiy  first  blow  that  Matha  Grove  struck 

He  wounded  Lord  Daniel  sore. 
The  very  first  blow  Lord  Daniel  struck, 

Little  Matha  could  strike  no  more. 

"Curs^  be  my  wifel"  said  he, 

"And  cursM  be  my  hand  I 
They  have  caused  me  to  slay  the  prettiest  lad 

That  ever  trod  Enghmd's  knd." 

He  took  his  lady  by  the  hand. 

He  led  her  through  the  plain. 
And  he  never  spoke  mother  word 

Till  he  split  her  head  in  twain. 

17 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

He  put  his  sword  against  the  ground. 

The  point  against  his  heart. 
There  never  was  three  lovers 

That  sooner  did  depart. 

While  it  is  still  possible  to  find  such  baJiads  as  this  in 
the  possession  of  humble  folk  who  shaU  say  that  the  ballad 
coUector's  function  is  a  barren  one?   He  will  have  to  search 
far  and  wide  if  he  is  to  find  many  such  relics  as  the  one  I 
have  just  shown,  for  as  surely  as  the  good  knight's  sword 
has  turned  to  rust  so  surely  is  the  popukr  singing  of  bal- 
lads ceasing  to  be  heard  in  the  land.    But  as  this  ancient 
custom  approaches  its  dissolution  the  more  need  is  there 
that  one  should  hasten  to  record  something  of  its  oper- 
ation, for  when  the  singers  and  historians  of  the  folk 
disappear,  as  they  presently  wiU,  we  shall  have  left  only 
a  few  printed  versions  of  their  lore,  dry  bones  from  that 
great  body  of  song  and  story  that  once  lived  and  moved 
among  forgotten  people  of  the  earth. 


18 


CHAPTER  TWO 

The  Way  of  the  Collector 

I  wish  to  proceed,  as  soon  as  I  conveniently  can,  to  a 
rough  narrative  account  of  my  first  experiences  with  bal- 
lad-singing folk.    This  account  will  lead  me  back  in  mem- 
ory to  the  time— six  or  seven  years  ago— when  I  set  out 
to  recover,  if  possible,  some  versions  of  the  ancient  Scotch 
ballads  which  I  had  heard  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  which 
were  freshly  brought  to  my  mina  n  my  college  days  by  a 
study  of  Professor  Child's  collection.    Though  the  path 
which  I  trod  in  those  first  years  of  my  quest  was  beset  with 
shards  and  flint,  in  the  retrospect  it  seems  fair  and  flowery 
and  retrospect  will  inevitably  play  its  mollifying  part  in 
my  narrative.    Therefore  I  deem  it  just  to  bend  my  atten- 
tion  for  a  moment  to  a  deliberate  recognition  of  the  diflS- 
culties  of  ballad  coUecting,  and,  in  the  sacred  interests  of 
verisimilitude,  to  insert  a  preliminary'  chapter  which  shaU 
expound  and  illustrate  some  of  the  trials  which  any  honest 
collector  must  prepare  to  meet— and  to  overcome. 

The  situation,  then,  that  faces  the  would-be  coUector  of 
popular  ballads  is  one  that,  if  it  tempt  him  at  aU,  must 
tempt  him  by  reason  of  its  abundant  opportunities  for  de- 
veloping his  faculties  of  ingenuity  and  persistence.  He 
must  bravely  accept  the  two  main  discouraging  facts,  first 
that  only  in  the  rarest  cases  do  ballads  stiU  exist  as  a 
popular  tradition,  and,  secondly,  that  the  few  old  men  and 
women  who  are  familiar  with  them  are  excessively  unwill- 
mg  to  reveal  this  familiarity  to  anyone  but  a  trusted  friend 

19 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

or  relative.  The  rude  winds  of  neglect,  scorn,  and  con- 
tumely have  so  chilled  the  custom  that  its  few  loyal  ad- 
herents instinctively  feel  that  it  is  for  them  to  give  it  pro- 
tection and  warmth  at  their  own  hearths,  and  to  bar  the 
door  against  the  blasts  from  the  outer  world,  which  may 
bring  inquisitive  strangers  who  desire  to  hear  ballads  sung 
in  order  to  hold  them  up  to  ridicule. 

The  worst  possible  manner  in  which  to  begin  the  siege 
of  a  potential  singer  would  be  to  approach,  salute,  and 
make  known  the  object  of  the  visit,— namely,  to  procure 
old  songs.  The  ardent  lover  might  just  as  well  begin  his 
courtship  by  a  downright  proposal  for  the  hand  of  his 
mistress.  By  this  bold  stroke  the  lover  might  conceivably 
have  his  hopes  crowned  on  the  instant,  but  he  would  be 
much  more  likely  to  prolong  his  courtship  by  several 
months,  or  even  to  render  its  continuance  inadvisable. 
And  no  bashful  maid  was  ever  more  coy  or  more  elusive 
than  is  the  hoary-headed  vendor  of  outworn  ballads.  Any 
display  of  impetuosity  on  the  part  of  the  collector  would 
immediately  lay  him  under  the  suspicion  of  being  a  seeker 
after  that  sort  of  pleasure  which  is  stimulated  by  the  spec- 
tacle of  a  fellow-creature  making  a  fool  of  himself.  He 
would  be  reproved,— and  even  when  exhibiting  the  most 
punctilious  deportment  he  frequently  is  reproved,— by  the 
searching  question,  "So  ye  just  thought  ye'd  come  around 
to  have  a  little  fun  with  me,  did  ye?" 

The  collector,  then,  who  keeps  his  eye  on  the  ultimate 
goal  will  realize  that  he  must  take  his  time  and  cover  his 
ground  before  he  can  hope  to  reach  that  goal.  He  will 
open  the  conversation  by  discoursing  gravely  on  topics  ju- 
diciously selected  from  the  five  following  classes:  weather, 
crops,  sickness,  politics,  and  religion.    Thus  he  will  convey 

so 


V\ 


The  Way  of  the  Collectob 
the  impression  that  he  is  a  civil,  trustworthy  person,  and 
not  a  mere  thoughtless  tormentor  of  the  old  and  vene;able. 
After  this  jmpression  is  driven  home  the  coUector  wiU 
gmde  his  sober  conversation  towards  a  series  of  reflections 
upon  ttie  songs  of  the  present  and  those  of  the  past,  in 
which  he  will  voice  his  conviction  that  the  old  is  bet^^« 

old-fashioned  sort.    Then  he  may.  with  what  skiU  Heav«^ 

Z  Sr  ^u"'  '^V^'  ^""^^''^  ^^<*  h«  ^  been  hold- 
mg  m  the  leash;  and  he  will,  if  my  experiences  are  typical 

^r  ^^""t  '"'^'''^  *"  ^''  "^'  God  bless^e.  i 
might  a  been  able  to  sing  one  or  two  o'  them  old  son^ 

th^'  TH  '  T^'  ' '°°«  ^'"  '^^^  ^^  I'-e  thoug^W 
th«n.  The  only  man  around  these  parts  that  wouldlkely 
mmd  of  a^  songs  now  is  old  John  Kemiedy.  an'  if  ye 
dnve  straight  along  the  «««i  for  two  miles,  an'  then  turn 
to  yer  nght  down  the  shore  road  ye'U  come  to  whereT 
hves."  Whereupon  I  should  neither  drive  two  mil^s  do,^ 
h^!  T  .r'  y^  *»™  to  my  right  down  the  shore  ro^ 
but^ould  remam  in  my  seat  and  by  degrees  extract  J^ 
my  mside  pocket  a  lead-pencil  and  a  writing-pad.  prepar- 

rJt  ^"  S'  T'  '''  '""^  ^^"'^^^  ''  *he  i^ders^aSt 
just  received.    This  process  is  given  as  an  imaginary  on^ 

«waM  of  h^est  endeavor  is  immediate  and  complete. 

Sandy  Macdonald.    As  I  entered  the  kiteh^nSa^^f 

SI 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

ognized  me  from  his  seat  behind  the  stove.    "Ah  yes,"  he 
beUowed,  "you're  the  professor,  ain't  ye?    My  God,  man, 
but  ye  must  be  rich!"    I  responded  with  the  cautious  mod- 
eration which,  I  think,  should  always  be  assumed  by  men 
of  my  profession  when  they  discuss  personal  aflfairs  of 
this  sort,  but  Sandy  was  not  to  be  shaken  from  his  posi- 
tion.   His  emphatic  conclusion  was,  "Ye  must  be  buildin' 
up  a  great  fortune."    In  the  elevation  of  spirit  brought  on 
by  this  heartening  assurance  I  was  moved  to  remark  unto 
Sandy  that  when  travelling  in  the  rain  I  fi«quently  car- 
ried a  pocket-vessel  containing  a  well-known  Scottish  re- 
storative, as  an  antidote  to  the  grosser  forms  of  dampness. 
My  information  elicited  another  stentorian  avowal,  and 
this  time  I  could  not  reasonably  dissent.    "Hai"  roared 
my  host,  "and,  by  the  Lord,  ye're  a  gentleman  tco!— Sit 
down,"  he  added,  "and  I'U  do  what  I  can  for  ye."    Sandy 
did  not  have  many  ballads  at  his  command,  but  of  such  as 
he  had  he  gave  freely. 

But  I  must  on  no  account  allow  myself  to  be  seduced  by 
the  pleasant  recollection  of  this  happy  experience  into 
leavmg  the  impression  that  it  is  typical.    OccasionaUy  one 
may  tread  the  straight  path  into  the  confidence  of  a  singer 
to  whom  the  creature  comforts  of  life  are  dear,  and  only 
a  few  months  ago  I  spent  an  afternoon  with  a  joUy  old 
dog  who,  within  fifteen  minutes  after  I  had  greeted  him, 
expressed  profound  regret  that  h?  had  so  little  to  offer  me 
in  return  for  my  well-placed  frit    -lliness.    But  ease  is  by 
no  means  the  rule;  and  in  the  c.  e  of  singers  who  take 
their  art  seriously,  recoUecting  that  in  their  youth  they 
were  profoundly  respected  as  dignified  entertainers  of  the 
community,  the  wall  of  reserve  is  likely  to  have  become 
high  and  hard  to  climb.    These  are  the  singers  who,  as  a 


The  Way  of  the  Collector 

rule,  possess  the  ballads  which  the  collector  is  most  eairer 
to  obtain,  and  they  will  display  them  only  to  that  pe^n 
who  can  persuade  them  that,  in  a  cynical  age,  he  reaUy 
feels  the  respectful  admiration  which  animated  the  circle 
of  hsteners  m  the  good  old  days. 

During  the  years  of  my  sporadic  endeavor  in  the  baJad 
field  I  have  run  a  good  part  of  what  I  conceive  to  be  the 
gamut  of  the  coUector's  experience.   I  have  returned  home 
at  evemng  laden  with  spoils  which  were  procured  as  easUy 
as  though  Heaven  had  showered  them,  manna-like,  upon 
the  ground  before  me,  and  I  have  toiled  for  days  on  «id 
with  no  other  reward  than  the  final  discovery  that  I  was 
operatmg  upon  barren  soil.   By  way  of  a  brief  iUustration, 
I  shaU  now  narrate  the  adventure  of  a  day  which  is  fairly 
typical  of  the  hfe  of  him  who  f oUows  the  dim  traU  of  the 
survivmg  English  and  Scotch  ballads. 

On  a  smoking  hot  July  afternoon,  some  years  ago.  I 
drove  ten  or  twelve  mUes  over  a  narrow,  dusty  ro^  in 
^arch  of  an  old  Scotch  Canadian  named  Thomas  Mc 
Farlane.    Old  Thomas  had  been  described  to  me  as  an 
eccentnc  person  of  outworn  habits  who  could  frequently 
be  heard  chantmg  strange  music  in  a  minor  ke7  while 
perf onning  his  daily  chores,  and  my  informer  had  deduced 
the  entirely  false  mference  that  he  would  prove  to  be  the 
sort  of  smg^r  that  I  delighted  to  honor.   Buoyed  up,  then, 
with  lying  hopes  and  expectations.  I  drove  into  the  door- 
yard  of  Thomas's  little  house  and  boldly  met  the  suspi- 
Clous  eye  of  lus  wife  who  was  peeling  potatoes  at  the  b Jck 
door     She  admitted  that  her  husband  might  possibly  be 
foimd  If  he  were  sought  in  the  swamp  down  over  the  hiU. 

7h^Z     u    u  ^""^  *  ~"P*^  "^  ^°""  ^^°^  to  clear  out 
the  alder  bushes;  and  thither  I  proceeded,  making  the  last 

28 


if 


The  Quest  op  the  Ballad 

stage  of  my  journey  over  treacherous  hummocks  which 
frequently  turned  out  to  be  mere  tufts  of  long  grass,  in- 
viting the  sole  of  the  foot  to  descend  and  then  blandly 
subsiding  under  its  weight  into  the  spongy  surface  of  the 
swamp.  I?y  this  uncertain  and  frequently  disastro  smode 
of  advance  I  finally  reached  the  spot  where  the  bushes 
were  being  kid  low  under  the  furious  onslaughts  of 
Thomas's  double-bitted  axe.  I  then  secured  a  substantial 
hummock,  grasped  one  of  the  surviving  alder  bushes  for 
support,  and  introduced  myself  while  Thomas  regarded 
me  with  a  stem  and  menacing  eye. 

The  mention  of  my  fine  old-fashioned  Scotch  name 
brought  a  friendlier  gleam  into  the  fierce  eyes  that  were 
steadily  bent  upon  me,  and  the  animosity  finally  vanished 
altogether  before  the  discovery  that  we  were  on  the  same 
side  of  politics.    The  stirring  campaign  for  reciprocity 
was  at  its  height,  and  Thomas  and  I  clung  to  our  respec- 
tive bushes  for  upwards  of  an  hour  while  we  threshed  over 
the  familiar  arguments  to  be  made  by  "the  poor  man"  in 
favor  of  letting  down  the  bars  of  protection.    Thus,  when 
the  time  came  for  me  to  attempt  a  transition  to  the  unre- 
lated topic  of  music,  Thomas  was  quite  ready  to  accom- 
pany me  in  a  spirit  of  sympathy.    He  admitted  at  once 
that  he  had  been  accounted  a  fair  singer  in  his  day,  whereat 
my  heart  leaped  up;  then  he  went  on  to  boast  that  his 
voice,  during  its  prime,  had  been  the  strongest  one  in  the 
church  choir,  whereat  my  heart  subsided.    ReHgion  may 
be  strong  to  uplift  and  to  save,  but  it  is  not  one  of  the 
forces  that  aid  in  keeping  the  ballads  alive  in  these  troub- 
lous times. 

My  dark  forebodings  presently  clarified  themselves  into 
a  shape  aU  too  definite.    Thomas  followed  up  his  boast  by 


The  Way  op  the  Collectob 
taking  a  firmer  grip  of  his  bush  with  one  hand,  while  with 
the  other  he  propped  hinwelf  resolutely  upon  the  support 
of  his  axe.  Then  he  fixed  a  solemn  eye  upon  me  and  broke 
into  a  wild  minor  strain  which  is  familiar  to  every  Scotch- 
man who  knows  the  psahnody  of  his  fathers.  The  words 
fitted  to  this  strain  are  variable,  and  in  the  version  of 
Thomas  they  began  thus: 

Broad  is  the  road  that  leads  to  death. 
And  thousands  walk  together  there; 

But  wisdom  shows  a  narrow  path. 
With  here  and  there  a  traveller. 

The  volume  of  sound  was  terrific.   I  rocked  and  swayed 
on  the  fnul  foundation  of  my  chosen  hummock  as  tht  lit- 
tle church  at  the  village  must  have  rocked  in  the  days  when 
Thomas  demonstrated  his  vocal  superiority  in  its  choir; 
and  all  the  whde  I  was  under  the  necessity  of  giving  mv 
entertainer  gaze  for  gaze.    To  have  looked  anywhere  but 
into  the  steely  orbs  that  were  fixed  upon  me  would  have 
been  to  sigmfy  that  the  champion  voice  of  the  old  kirk 
choir  was  at  last  failing  to  be  impressive;  therefore  I  looked 
and  hstened  hke  a  three  years'  child  while  Thomas  thun- 
dered  along  towards  the  period  of  his  lugubrious  hymn. 

After  I  had  bestowed  upon  this  performance  the  full 
meed  of  my  hypocritical  appkuse,  I  proceeded  slowly  but 
with  a  steady  msistence  to  draw  Thomas  towards  the  reaUn 
of  profane  and  popular  music.  Finally  I  became  definite 
and  specific  and  asked  him  pointblank  if  he  had  ever  heard 
a  song  caUed  "The  Seven  Brethren."  illustrating  my  ques- 
tion  by  a  direct  quotation  from  a  ripe  old  popular  baUad 
that  I  had  copied  down  from  the  lips  of  an  ancient  singer 
earlier  m  the  summer:  * 

25 


4  I 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 
Arise,  arise,  ye  seven  brethren. 

And  put  on  your  armour  so  bright 

Arise  and  take  care  of  your  youngest  sister. 

For  your  eldest  went  away  last  night. 

"Ah,  yes,"  roared  Thomas  in  a  reminiscent  tone,  "I  mind 
of  me  mother  singin*  that  song  when  I  was  a  boy.  Let  me 
see  how  it  goesi"  Then,  taking  a  firmer  hold  of  his  alder 
bush,  he  sent  his  voice  hurtling  through  the  quiet  air: 

Arise,  arise,  ye  seven  brethereen 

And  put  on  your  armours  oright 

Arise 

Beyond  this  point  the  song,  of  its  own  accord,  would  not 
transport  the  singer,  and  Thomas,  though  he  put  forth 
efforts  both  herculean  and  stentorian,  could  not  budge  it 
one  word  further.  FinaUy  he  acknowledged  himself  a 
beaten  man.  "Me  mother,"  he  asserted  mournfully,  "used 
o  smg  that  song  and  a  hundred  more  like  it;  but  she's 
been  in  her  grave  many  a  year,  and  I  never  bothered  with 
the  old  songs  after  I  went  into  the  choir." 

I  felt  even  more  dejected  than  old  Thomas.  He  had 
only  made  a  manful  attempt  to  entertain  me  for  an  hour 
or  so  m  the  way  which  had  seemed  best  to  fit  my  desires, 
but  I  had  falsely  possessed  myself,  in  anticipation,  of  a 
priceless  store  of  ballads  which  now,  in  a  moment,  ha^ 
slipped  from  my  grasp  forever.  And,  since  Thomas  had 
proved  to  be  a  broken  reed  and  a  stricken  alder  bush,  it 
remamed  for  me  only  to  put  the  final  question  which  I 
keep  m  stock  for  the  conclusion  of  a  fruitless  interview: 
Do  you  know  of  anybody  around  these  parts  that  might 
be  able  to  smg  any  of  the  old  songs  ?" 

26 


t 


The  Way  of  thb  CoujEcrot 
"Why.  yes,"  said  Thomas,  cudgelling  hU  brain  in  a 
pathetic  eaprness  to  make  amends  for  hi.  recent  failure. 
*u^u  °i?^^^,  Thompson  in  yon  Uttle  house  up  over 
the  hill.  They  tell  me  that  she  used  to  have  a  lot  o' them 
old  sor^  that  she  would  sing  for  the  boys  when  they  wai 
dancm  and  fiddhn'  at  her  house.  Ye  might  try  her-if 
she  U  let  ye  git  past  her  dooryard." 

It  "the  trade  of  the  ballad-coUector  to  walk  up  to  roar- 
ing hons  chained  in  caves  and  to  attack  fortified  cities 
whose  waUs  perchance  wiU  tumble  at  the  blast  of  a  trum- 

^M  rirJ  ^^  '*°*  ***"****  •*  ^  P^P^  o'  rtorm- 
ing  the  httle  house,  up  over  the  hill,  which  immured  the 

grun  and  mysterious  figure  of  old  Ann  Thompson.  As  I 
hitehed  my  horse  to  the  post  safely  placed  outside  the  de- 
batable ground  of  the  dooryard.  I  cautiously  noted,  upon 
a  bench  m  front  of  the  house,  an  ancient  figure  cUd  in  « 
ancient  grngham  gown  ending  weU  above  a  pair  of  frankly 
disphiyed  bi^  feet  which  were  disposed  for  coohiess  upZ 
LnSiJr    ^}' ^'^^''^'^^''^g^'^r.^d  cynical  e%^ 

udo^h"^*".  T'^^  approached,  but  remained  fixed 
upon  the  distant  and  mscrutable  sea. 

Too  long  and  tedious  were  it  to  tell  of  the  protracted 
conversation  m  which  I  introduced,  one  after  another 
a  nehand  vaned  hst  of  topics  upon  which  I  was  freely 
allowed  to  expend  the  treasure  of  my  oratory  while 
Ann  made  occasional  brief  and  sarcastic  responses.  The 
chances  are  that  I  should  presently  have  mihitched  my 
horse  with  never  a  ballad  upon  the  writing-pad  in  my  in- 
side  pocket  had  not  a  stout  aUy  come  to  my  assistance  in 

^m^T*t  V^"^^  T!'^''  ''^  approached  around  the 
comer  of  the  house  rubbing  her  hands  free  of  the  flour 

iT 


II 


/li 


Thi  Qum  OF  THi  Ballad 

■elf  ready  to  serve  me  to  the  heiirht  of  h—  .kr!:   f    • 
•irted  only  upon  a  complrtTimTdH^ni  *^  "^  '"" 

occupation  and  line^  „d  ^J^f  ?^""*  °'  '"y 
•ni  always  di  D«*d?!  i!^  ^  ***P**'''  «»*  '^Wch  I 

was  completed  I  «Uted  modestTttat 31.T  "*^'"" 

was  to  heap  old  songs  and  to  wpv  S^l^  ^*  P"*^"* 

"Good  l«n/ii"     *;.      r^  ~Py  *"*™  down  on  paper. 

man?   It  won't  i,.,^  ^  .  ^^^  ^'^^^  *ong8  for  the 

Ann  I,  J  w    r    ^°"  ""^^  '*  ^™»'*  ^urt  him  * 

bright  moon,  the  rtm  oSl**Jf  "T*  "^  *^ 

-=  h.  no  w  .i.  .^Z."tTX^  tZ 

28 


Tarn  Wax  aw  ihi  CcnxiCKni 

rdent,  for  d«  now  begm  to  diswmble  in  crrfty  fwhioo. 
Ah.  weU,"  A.  -id,  "I  did  u«  to  .ing  once,  whanS 
younpr  m'  .p^„  tluu.  I  .»  now,  tot  I  couM  no  m^ 
««(f  for  y.  now  tl»n  I  could  fly.  ..  .  Emm.,..  ^  ^ 
on  tummg  to  her  daughter,  "go  «,•  fetch  th.t  book" 

^f  •  r.  ""  ij?"*-  He  c«  write  «o..  o-tL^ 
^^„they«  .  bkm.  «8ht  better  th«.  «y  I  couU 

a^,^^^^*^'  i^  °*  """"'""y  to  find  the  hook, 
quite  Mbsfied,  m  her  umocence,  that  old  Ann  h«l  hit  upoo 
tt«  dence  for  ending  ril  our  difllenlti...  A.  for  ZT 
M^  my  time  u  doe.  the  cpt«n  of  .  rtonn-beitcn  b^A 

^^h  d^lter.  Uk  h.«n  for  which  he  «ul..  The  WW. 
were  here,  ud  I  umrti  ,,,  If  inw«dly  that  I  wouMbe 
tag  up  by  theWU  in  th.u.^.ket-pl«,Lt  I  woT^ 
«»>>e  of  them  down  before  I  crowed  Am.  Thomp^-I 
dooryardapin.  men  the  book  wm  in  due  «««rp  Wd 
m  my  hand.  I  di.«„bW  in  my  tun>  «  cr^af  X^ 
had  ^ne.««mmng  Witt  gnat  care  tte  word.  „d  ^ 
of    Old  BlMk  Joe,"  "SwMiee  Rirer,"  u,d  mmy  otter 

"There  are  plenty  of  songs  better  than  these  "  I  «^ 
marked  after  a  space,  "and  they've  nev«^^ttL  k 
books  either.  Take  a  song  like  this  one,  no^aTMin^ 
up  my  voice.  I  huskily  carolled  the  fir^  two  s^s  o^f 
brave  old  "Come  aU  ye»  ballad  of  Waterb^: 
Come  all  you  brisk  and  lively  lads, 

Come  listen  unto  me. 
While  I  relate  how  I  have  fought 
Through  the  wars  of  Germanv. 


«  II 


The  Quest  op  the  Ballad 

'  Th '  ^TiJ  ^^""^  ^P*^  »"d  Portugal 
Through  France  and  Flanders  too. 

But  It's  httle  I  thought  I'd  be  reserv;^ 
*or  the  plains  of  Waterloo. 

"Hoi"  exclaimed  Ann  sardonieallv  «»«  ^.  i 
one,  do  ye?   Well  th*.«.'c    ,    r*'^*^^'    «>  7'-  know  that 

never  helivJ  ?!  *^  **'°"*  Waterloo  that  I'U  bet  ye 

never  neard  from  anyone  but  m*.i"     a»j    •      "  p"-  /« 

As  I  walked  out  on  a  fine  smmner's  evening- 

a  chMice  either  to  «i«Jrf  „?t„  7^  T*""*  »^^  "» 

'' aL^^"^.'  '^'''  °^  •  ««d  Umentati™ 
About  her  absent  lover  on  the  pUin,  of  W.^«, 

"T^U  !!"'  ""^  !f "  "'  •■*  ^'^  "«  « token. 
A  gold  dianiond  nng  that  wm  broken  in  iwo- 

To  I'"  T'""'  "''  ™«'  '^'«  '"dy  SaUy"' 

C«w.^""'^^"'^  """"■«■«'«  it 

^  S  T^''/,:!*  V""  ■"""•  y«  Pri^e  of  "11  nation. 
For  I^h.«  been  in  battle,  where  e«mon,  loudly 

80 


The  Way  of  the  Collectob 

And  by  your  description  I  might  have  known 
the  same." 

"O,  William  Smith's  his  name,  he's  a  hero  of  fame." 

Many  s  the  battle  him  and  I  have  been  in. 
Through  Portugal  and  Russia  we  often  marehed 
together. 

He  was  my  loyal  comrade  through  France  and 
through  Spain. 

"As  by  the  French  we  were  aU  surrounded. 

Like  bold  British  heroes  we  did  them  subdue. 
We  fought  three  days  together  until  we  did 
subdue  them. 

Like  bold  Napoleon  Boney  on  the  plains  of 
Waterloo. 

"By  French  soldiers  your  true  love  was  slain 

•  .  , 

It's  there  I  saw  him  lie,  there  I'saw  hii^  bleed 
and  die 

With  his  low  faltering  voice  he  bid  me  adieu." 

Here  a  whole  stanza  was  gone,  as  Ann  freely  admitted, 
piecmg  up  the  imperfection  with  an  exphmatory  com- 
ment:     She  would  faU  down  in  a  faintin'  fit,  not  knowin' 

S^k"  X^IT  ^l  ^^^''  '^'  ™  taUdn'  to  in  the 
dark.  Then  the  tnumphant  conclusion  was  presented  by 
the  song  itself:  •*«  uj 

Wl»en  he  found  her  so  loyal  he  pulled  out  the  token. 

The  gold  diamond  ring  that  was  broken  in  two, 

5>aying,  'You  have  my  heart  and  ring,  dear  lovely 

Sally,  ' 

To  remember  your  dear  WiUy,  but  he's  far 
from  Waterloo." 

SI 


i 


i 


jii 


i! 


f  *       *K 


!  I 


1^  i 


il 


i-i' 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

Mangled  and  battered  and  torn  though  it  was,  this  bal- 
lad had  finnly  implanted  itself  in  the  affections  of  old 
Ann,  and  its  very  wounds  rendered  it  doubly  dear,  for 
they  remained  as  a  proof  of  what  Ann  repeatedly  boasted, 
that  no  one  else  could  sing  the  song  differently  because 
no  one  else  knew  it.  As  for  me,  I  welcomed  it  as  gladly 
as  dear  lovely  SaUy"  welcomed  her  lover  who  so  crueUy 
tested  her  faith  in  the  treacherous  gloom  of  a  summ» 
evenmg. 

If  a  baUad-singer  can  be  persuaded  to  give  you  one 
song  he  wiU  then  proceed  to  hand  over  to  you  every  song 
that  he  possesses,  regrettmg  only  that  he  has  not  more  to 
give;  also,  it  must  be  remembered  that  old  Ann  and  I  had 
exchanged  baUads  in  the  process  of  singing  to  each  other, 
and  this  is  a  ceremony  as  formal,  binding,  and  sacred  as 
the  halvmg  of  a  "gold  diamond  ring."    A  few  minutes 
after  the  smging  had  ended  we  all  proceeded,  an  amicable 
tno,  towards  the  single  entrance  to  the  cottege,  while  Ann 
made  one  last  hypocritical  attempt  to  put  me  in  my  place. 
1  s  pose,    she  remarked  to  her  daughter.  "I'd  better  put 
on  me  boots  an'  me  silk  stockin's  before  I  go  to  set  up  in 
the  parlor  with  him."  ^ 

I  have  narrated,  in  rather  aimless  fashion,  this  d(  ible 
adventure  of  my  baUad-hunting  days,  not  because  the  ad- 
venture is  of  any  special  interest  in  itself,  but  because  it 
truly  illustrates  the  discouragement.  faUure.  and  chance 
success  that  form  the  mingled  lot  of  the  ballad-collector  in 
these  latter  days.  Ballad-gathering  is  no  longer  an  "s 
tempt  of  ease,"  but  the  coUector  who  knows  that  it  wi 
soon  be  quite  impossible  will  not  refuse  to  accept  his  share 
of  discouragement  if  now  and  then  he  is  enabled  to  record 
a  traditional  song  that  after-ages  wiU  not  willingly  let  die. 

M 


CHAPTER  THREE 

My  Fimt  Ballad-Hunt 
In  the  foUowing  two  or  three  chapters  I  shaU  give  a 
rambling  account  of  my  first  adventures  in  pursuit  of  the 
baUad,  and  I  may  quite  properly  preface  the  account  with 
a  brief  sketch  of  my  preparation  for  the  work.     This 
sketch  may  be  narrowed  down  to  the  simple  statement 
that  I  have  always  been  addicted  to  what  is  frequently  de- 
Mnbed  as  "low  company."    Since  I  was  reared  in  a  Nova 
Scotia  seaport  town,  where  the  grades  of  society  go  down 
as  low  as  heart  could  desire,  I  had  for  years  ample  oppor- 
tumty  of  satisfying  this  base-bom  predUection  to  the  fuU- 
and  when  I  developed,  a  f ev  years  ago,  the  nobler  ambi- 
tion  to  form  a  coUection  of  the  Nova  Scotia  ballads  I  had 
the  best  stock-in-trade  obtainable  for  the  purpose,  a  f anul- 
lanty  with  the  sort  of  people  who  now  possess  a  monopoly 
of  this  very  humble  species  of  entertainment.     Still,  I 
would  not  have  anybody  think  that  my  youthful  exper- 

lence  made  the  task  of  collecting  baUads  a  simple  one.  No 
possible  kind  of  preparation  for  the  work  could  effect  that 
result,  and  if  it  were  necessary  for  me  to  choose  a  text  for 
my  remarks  my  text  would  be.  The  way  of  ballad-coUeo- 
tors  IS  hard. 

My  first  introduction  to  ballad-singing  as  a  matter  of 
oral  tradition  was  through  an  old  man  of  French  descent 
known  as  Little  Ned,  though,  as  he  himself  never  forgot, 
he  had  for  special  use  on  dignified  occasions  the  soundinc 
name  of  Edward  LangiUe.    Little  Ned  was  a  cobbler  in 


■i 


t, 


i! 

ft 


The  Qxtest  of  the  Ballad 

the  viUage  of  River  John,  and  in  his  diminutive  hut,  immi- 
noit  upon  the  river  bank,  he  plied  his  trade  and  enter- 
tained at  aU  hours  those  of  his  acquaintances  whom  he  saw 
fit  to  advance  to  terms  of  intimacy.  He  lived  as  com- 
pletely in  the  past  as  if  the  clock  had  ceased  to  move,  many 
years  before,  when  he  had  reached  the  prime  of  life;  and 
in  consideration  of  his  garrulity  and  his  marveUous  mem- 
ory—a natural  enough  accompaniment  of  complete  and 
hereditary  illiteracy— he  was  a  most  delectable  compan- 
ion for  one  who  could  appreciate  a  vivid  reproduction  of 
"the  old  days." 

Little  Ned  was  thus  a  most  happy  exception  to  the  rule 
which  I  presented  so  mournfully  in  my  first  chapter.  He 
had  no  sort  of  objection  to  enlivening  the  present  with  the 
entertainments  of  the  past,  for  the  simple  reason  that  the 
past  was  stiU  the  present  to  him.  Of  the  new  and  fashion- 
able tendency  to  sing  tearful  ditties  about  gay  ball-rooms 
and  deserted  homes  he  never  knew,  or,  knowing,  was 
serenely  oblivious.  Moreover,  like  many  an  one  whose 
usual  role  it  is  to  play  the  part  of  bland  entertainer,  Little 
Ned  was  at  all  times  guarded  against  'contradiction  or 
ndicule  by  the  suggestion  of  a  strong  potential  irascibility; 
and  in  his  own  castle,  which  he  rarely  forsook,  his  point 
of  view  was  constantly  maintained. 

Among  his  various  spoils  of  the  past  Ned  had  a  stock 
of  baUads  which,  in  age  and  variety,  was  probably  without 
parallel  in  the  whole  countryside.  When  in  a  tuneful 
frame  of  mind— a  condition  easily  produced  in  his  case  by 
the  gentle  influence  of  a  little  rational  stimulant— he  would 
smg  baUads  by  the  hour  with  never  a  regret  for  the  half- 
finished  piece  of  cobbling  on  the  bench  beside  him.  Among 
the  older  ballads  in  his  collection  his  favorites  were,  "Lord 

84 


It 


My  FiKST  Ballad-Hunt 

Thomas  and  Fair  Ellinor,"  "Little  Matha  Vxrove."  and. 
above  aU,  "Bolender  Martin."  But  the  songs  in  his  reper- 
tory were  not  aU  drawn  from  the  lists  of  older  English 
and  Scottish  popular  ballads.  He  was  equally  interested 
in  the  misfortunes  of  the  Prince  Edward  Islander  who  in- 
troduced the  stoiy  of  his  life  by  informing  his  hearers: 

"O  ray  name  is  Peter  Ambelay,  as  you  shaU  understand. 
My  home  is  in  Prince  Edward  Island,  down  by  the 
ocean  strand." 

Frequently  he  discharged  the  duty  of  instructing  his  youth- 
f ul  visitors  through  the  medium  of  a  moral  ballad  depict- 
ing an  unhappy  person  who  began  life  by  "steering  his 
couwe  for  pleasure"  and  who  came  to  grief  in  the  4uel. 
Or  If  the  wicasion  was  more  meny.  he  would  sometimes 
troll  out  a  ditty  beginning, 

O  there  were  three  Boston  ladies. 
And  they  were  dressed  in  green, 

which  by  contrast  with  most  of  his  songs,  had  the  airy  ef- 
feet  of  a  bit  of  ver»  de  »ociHi. 

I  must  be  pardoned  for  dwelling  at  some  length  on  the 
memory  of  this  antique  purveyor  of  the  old  baUad  stock 
Even  now.  after  the  lapse  of  several  years.  I  cannot  reflect 
upon  the  nch  possibilities  of  Little  Ned  without  much  in- 

vt^  IT  ,'^^*''  *'™«  ^^°^^  ^°'  ~"««e  I  saw  very 
httle  of  him  for  some  years,  but  when  I  became  interested 
m  the  baUads  as  literary  documents,  and  had  my  eves 
opened  to  the  importance  of  gathering  traditional  versions 
now  extant,  my  mind  naturaUy  reverted  to  the  ample 

85 


f: 


1 


it 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

store-house  of  old  Ned,  which  I  could  open  for  the  asking. 
I  determined  to  spend  a  part  of  my  next  s^mimer  vacation 
in  ransacking  the  store-house  tor  tfce  benefit  of  mankind, 
but  no  sooner  had  I  formed  this  Iionorab'e  resolution  than 
I  received  a  letter  from  home  stating  that  my  old  friend 
had  suddenly  died. 

Ballad-singing  has  for  many  years,  and  in  the  richest 
fields,  been  on  the  pomt  of  lapsing  from  a  moribund  state 
into  positive  extinction.    The  north  shore  of  Nova  Scotia, 
as  I  have  come  to  believe,  is  a  very  rich  field  as  fields  go 
nowadays,  but  it  is  irredeemably  impoverished  by  the  loss 
of  such  a  singer  as  old  Ned  Langille.    Practically  all  of 
tile  ballads  in  my  collection  I  have  procured  from  men 
and  women  in  the  neighborhood  of  seventy  or  eighty  years 
of  age.    With  that  generation  the  singing  of  ballads  as  a 
recognized  form  of  entertainment  seems  to  have  ceased, 
and  any  persons  of  a  younger  generation  who  have  ac- 
quired ballads  traditionally  have  done  so  because  of  some 
unusual  condition  of  character  or  circumstance,  and  not 
because  it  was  a  conventional  or  desirable  thing  to  do. 
Therefore,  the  sort  of  persons  that  one  may  speak  of  now 
as  forming  the  chief  class  of  ballad-singers  are  men  and 
women  who  have  survived  to  the  age  of  eighty  or  there- 
abouts, who  were  ballad-singers  in  their  young  days  when 
ballad-singing  was  more  fashionable,  and  who  have  in 
some  way  managed  to  retain  portions  of  the  old  ballad 
stock  through  the  years  that  have  elapsed  since  it  passed 
out  of  fashion.   In  the  light  of  these  facts  I  cbim  the  right 
to  bestow  the  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh  upon  the  memory 
of  Ned  Langille  the  cobbler. 

But  ballad-singing,  though  it  had  been  dealt  a  heavy 
stroke  by  the  death  of  Little  Ned,  had  not  yet  utterly 

86 


tl 


My  Fuwt  Ballad-Hunt 
perished  from  the  earth,  and  in  the  summer  of  1909  I 
started  out  11,  rather  aimless  fashion  to  wander  throurf, 
the  countiy  m  search  of  people  who  were  old.  who  we« 
musicaUy  mclmed.  and  whose  social  status  did  not  elevate 
iT -5^7  **'^  P^*"^  °^  ^«"  "nusements.    First  of  alL 

Little  Ned's,  m  the  wavering  hope  that  she  might  b^  a 
chance  possessor  of  some  of  the  material  which  had.  aU  too 
ate,  caused  her  brother  to  assmne  such  important  dimen- 
sions  in  my  sight.    She  Uved  in  the  hamlet  of  MarshWUe 

sitttr^^  ?  ^"'^"'  "■  ""^  "^"«*  *°  *^^  combination 
«ttmg.room.  dming-room.  and  kitchen  where  she  and  her 

husband  were  sheltering  themselves  fn,m  the  sun.  aTd  par' 

tjfang  mstead  of  the  mor*  personal  and  private  sS 

^heat  en^tted  by  the  x^aring  wood-fi^  i„^heir  kS 

^IL  1         ?r^  ™  ^"^"''  "^^e  *°  *«  domesticity 
of  the  scene  with  a  comforting  pipe  of  Pictou  twist  Z 

most  concentrated  narcotic  in  exigence;  so.  i^  ^t  ^t 

to  mfrmge  on  the  hannony  of  the  scene.  I  put  my  o^ 

ine  weather  and  the  briefness  of  human  existence     A  ««« 
siderat ion  of  the  various  ills  that  tonnenurmortat  fl^Si 

o^  w         '  ^^  **^"  ^  succeeded  in  introducing  my 
own  topic,  m  spite  of  old  James's  absorbed  interest^  Z 

er'f  sreZr*^^  to  sniff  at  my  assertion  of  her  broth- 
er  8  supenonty  m  the  realm  of  sonir     "Ah  "  .1,-.  -•  u  j 
"Ned  must  a' told  ye  that.    He'sd3\«^    she  sighed, 
^c  ui«.    tte  s  dead  and  gone  now,  pore 

87 


M 


n 


if 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

Ned,  but  there's  no  denyin'  that  he  used  to  be  a  terrible 
liar."  I  stoutly  maintained  that.  Jar  or  no  liar,  Ned  had 
entertained  me  time  and  time  again  with  songs  in  great 
variety  and  profusion.  "O  yes,"  she  admitted,  "Ned 
knowed  a  few  songs,  but  he  could  never  sing  like  his  father. 
He  was  a  singer  for  ye,  now,  was  me  father.  When  I  was 
a  girl  I  can  mind  of  him  settin*  on  his  bench  anjl  tap  tap- 
pin*  on  the  shoes,  ;  singin'  songs  that  would  bring  the 
very  tears  to  your  eyes.  He  could  sing  steady  all  day  an' 
never  sing  the  same  song  twict."  A  modest  request  for  a 
reproduction  of  some  of  these  tender  ballads  drew  from 
Susan  only  a  repeated  insistence  on  their  great  variety  and 
their  potency  in  forcing  tears  to  the  eyes.  "I  never  bed 
any  music  in  me  head,"  she  explained,  "it  all  run  to  me 
heels." 

I  become  conscious  that  I  am  doing  an  injustice  to  the 
personality  of  this  kindly  old  lady.  She  had  become  con- 
vinced that  I  was  in  a  state  of  desperate  physical  ill-being, 
and  she  was  much  more  concerned  about  some  remedies 
for  my  lean  and  depleted  appearance  than  about  the  pe- 
dantries of  ballad-lore.  But  the  short  of  the  matter  is  that 
she  could  not  sing  or  repeat  a  single  line  of  the  multifar- 
ious ballads  that  her  father  had  sung.  The  best  she  could 
do  was  to  give  the  substance  of  two  that  had  especially  ap- 
pealed to  her  "because  they  was  so  sad"— "Lord  Thomas 
and  Fair  Ellinor"  and  "James  Harris,  or  the  Demon 
Lover."  Apart  from  these  she  had  only  a  general  im- 
pression that  a  srreat  many  of  her  father's  songs  had  been 
about  "fightin'  and  love,  an'  lords  an'  ladies." 

But,  with  a  real  desire  to  do  everything  that  could  be 
done  for  my  entertainment,  she  finally  suggested  that  her 
own  man  used  to  know  a  couple  of  songs;  whereat  old 

98 


My  FlMT  BALLiU>-HuNT 

James,  seeing  the  attention  directed  hia  wav  -«.*  •  j- 

mtted  th.t  he  might  be  .ble  to  produce  one  «yng  itU^ 

M^ed  to  ".tudy  fer  .  whUe."    After  .  Aort  MriL^ 

studymg'  „d  mother  ineffective  bomb«ding  JTSTfil 

he  cIo«d  h„  eye,.  le«.ed  b«k  in  hi.  eh«r,td  prSS 

«quenlly,  it  once  enjoyed  s  wide  popuUritv  in  the  ^.T 
mun,ty.  „d  p«ily  bec««  it  h«  to  my^«T  W.T 
tnn„c  mterert  «  being  the  firrt  bdtad  that  I J  to  ^p^; 
O  come  .U  ye  men  of  learning,  «,d  ,«nbhng  boy,  bew«e 

ThiiJ^^lofty  hill,  „d  mom„d„,  that  a«  at  your  com- 
And^Wr^'of  «,e  tediou,  joumey  going  t.  v„  d;,^.. 

°  *t  rdt:i"rr  '^'-''*-- »"™-  «- 

One  mght  they  were  trapanded  by  the  keeper  of  the  struid. 

O  Bro™  he  h«i  a  sweetheart.  Je«,  Summer  waa  her 
And^  was  «„t  to  Dublin  town  for  the  playmg  of  her 


■J;  J 


89 


Ths  Qusn  or  the  Ballad 

Our  captftin  fell  in  love  with  her  and  married  her  out  of 
hand. 

And  the  best  of  treatment  she  gave  us  going  to  Van  Die- 
man's  Land. 

O  the  place  we  had  to  land  upon  was  on  some  foreign 

shore. 
The  people  gathered  around  us,  about  five  himdred  score. 
They  yoked  us  up  like  horses  and  sold  us  out  of  hand. 
They  chained  us  to  a  chain,  boys,  to  plough  Van  Dieman's 

Land. 

O  the  place  we  had  to  sleep  upon  was  built  of  sods  and  clay. 
And  rotten  straw  for  to  lay  upon,  and  dare  not  a  word  to 

say. 
The  people  gathered  all  round  us,  saying,  "Slumber  if  you 

can, 
And  think  of  the  Turks  and  tigers  that's  in  Van  Dieman's 

Lsnd." 

0  one  night  as  I  lay  upon  my  bed  I  dreamed  a  pleasant 

dream. 

1  dreamed  that  I  was  in  old  Ireland  down  by  a  spiu-lhi^ 

stream, 

With  a  handsome  girl  upon  my  side,  and  she  at  my  com- 
mand— 

When  I  woke  quite  broken-hearted  all  in  Van  Dieman's 
Land. 

A  modest  enough  beginning  to  my  labors,  in  good  sooth. 
Of  the  many  ballads  and  songs  that  I  have  collected  from 
time  to  time  this  is  one  of  the  humblest  and  the  least.  And 
yet  it  did  not  fail  to  win  its  tribute  of  emotion  from  poor 
old  Susan,  who  in  the  judging  of  a  ballad  must  be  allowed 

40 


it 


Mt  Fiut  Ballad-Huxt 
to  have  had  lome  qualificationt  which  are  denied  to  thoie 
of  greater  erudition.  As  the  singing  proceeded  she  evinced 
the  liveliest  sympathy  for  the  luckless  "Brown,  Martin  and 
PaulJones,"  and  kept  ejaculating  sorrowfully:  "Oh,  the 
pore  fellahs  I"  "To  think  they  had  nawthing  but  rotten 
straw  to  lay  on  I"  and  so  forth.  And  her  husband,  far 
from  being  annoyed  by  this  running  fire  of  most  audible 
comment,  sang  with  greater  vigor  and  was  visibly  heart- 
ened by  the  realization  that  he  was  arousing  emotioD  by 
his  performance. 

This  is  one  of  the  few  occasicms  on  which  I  have  wit- 
nessed the  satisfactory— I  might  almost  say  the  ideal- 
rendition  of  a  ballad,  and  my  memory  of  the  composite 
performance  of  old  James  and  his  wife  is  to  me  rather 
more  valuable  than  is  the  somewhat  debased  and  senti- 
mentalized ballad  which  I  carried  away.    It  is  only  when 
a  ballad  is  rendered  by  a  singer  of  the  old  school  in  the 
presence  of  one  or  more  listeners  who  have  by  chance  sur- 
vived with  him  that  the  full  significance  of  ballad-singing 
can  be  realized.    The  total  effect  is  infinitely  greater  than 
that  suggested  by  the  unanimated  ballad  which  is  trans- 
mitted to  the  printed  page,  or  even  by  the  words  with  the 
music.    It  is  both  of  these  plus  the  emotion  of  singer  and 
listeners,  an  emotion  manifested  by  the  ktter,  sometimes 
m  ejaculatory  comments,  and  sometimes  in  an  unconscious 
or  excited  joining  of  forces  with  the  singer  in  the  rendition 
of  a  line  or  a  refrain.    Jr.  this  harmony  between  the  singer 
and  his  audience  one  may  see,  if  one  is  as  fortunate  as  I 
have  been,  a  clear  suggestion  of  that  older  and  more  com- 
plete h-Tnony  which  the  dust  of  many  centuries  has  so 
obscure  J  for  us,  and  which  we  vaguely  define  as  "the  spirit 
of  the  throng." 

«i 


CHAPTER  FOUR 


1^  I 


The  Discotzby  or  Bob 

A  week  or  two  after  my  rather  uneventful  afternoon  in 
the  tomd  I'llme  of  Susan's  kitchen  I  heard  by  a  sort  of  ac- 
adent  of  ar  ild  tuui  who  seemed  speciallv  designed  by  a 
sympatheti'  I'rtM  idence  to  serve  my  peculiar  ends.    One 
of  the  fneruis  to  ^vhom  I  told  the  story  of  my  quest  wfc*  a 
doctor  in  iataiiMtgonche,  a  village  about  tw  Ive  miles  from 
River  JohiK  aixl  among  his  patients  was  an  octogenarian 
named  Bc.b  Lang,Ue,  who  lived  a  couple  c  f  mile^  outside 
of  the  village  with  liis  two  sisters,  and  they,  also,  were  well 
stncken  m  years.    Bob  was  unable  to  repay  the  doctor's 
services  with  coin  of  the  reahn,  but  on  one  or  two  occasions 
he  had  shown  his  gratitude  to  his  benefactor  by  singing 
some  old  songs  which  he  evidently  regarded  with  a  lover's 
jealousy  and  with  a  father's  pride.    So  ran  the  nnort  of 
the  doctor,  who  agreed  to  convoy  and  to  introduce  me  in 
proper  form,  since,  as  he  very  sagely  observed,  I  should 
be  m  danger  of  expending   nuch  eloquence  to  little  pur 
pose  if  I   should  go  unsp«msored      Accordingly,   thus 
stoutly  attended,  I  set  out  one  morning  for  the  humble 
abode  of  the  ancient  trio. 

We  found  our  potential  hallad-singer  in  the  In       door- 
yard  behind  the  house,  making  feeble  efforts  t.    split 
block  of  wood.    He  greeted  my  friend  with  the  pnimm 
est  respect,  acknowledged  my  introduction  to  hin    ^nd  in. 
mediately  disappeared  within  t  e  house.     We  foUowed 
hrni  as  far  as  the  kitchen  to  pay  our  respects  to  the  two 


The  DncovxKY  of  Bob 

old  aisteri,  who  were  «ijoying  the  uiueasonable  comforts 
of  a  blMing  wood  fire.  After  I  h«l  ^ven  a  fairly  com- 
plete jiccount  (,  my  parentage,  occupation,  and  place  of 
libode  in  answer  to  tlie  insistent  demands  of  the  sisters. 
Bob  renppeared,  having  in  the  meantime  exchanged  his 
tattew  i  -ow  3  breakfast"  for  th.  more  .eremonial  head- 
gear 1  an  antique  felt  hat.  This  he  continued  to  i^ear, 
except  for  the  brief  intermission  of  dinner-time,  during 
the  rest  )f  Hie  day,  in  uunor  of  iiis  -isit  from  two  profes- 
si«mal  gtntleMen. 

I  his  artww  on  ih«  part  of  old  Bob  immediately  sug- 
gestt  d  a  t  oHi  ison  h  tween  him  and  mv  departed  friend 
LittK  Neri  The  er  had  always  recv  red  his  company 
with  he  d.  V  <  king  .  his  throne  xtending  greet- 
ings to  ai  e  4r  jhf  vom  his  fur  cap  summer  and 
wmtei  indoo^^  ^,  ,ut,  w.  never  a  misgiving  as  to  the 
«n««  his  tire.  But  th.  is  subjecting  poor  old  Bob 
to  a  «v^re  aiui  rather  unfair  test.  In  an  age  of  victorious 
^  erpowering  conventionality  it  is  to(.  much  to  expect 
^'  on.  should  encounter  another  uncor.  ious  and  serene 
indi  idualist  like  Little  Ned. 

Bat  while  these  reflections  were  fl. 
' '^  It  of  my  mind  I  was  laboring  « 
rjgratiaf    myself  with  the  ancient  trio,  »i 

u  me  ,  a  careful  scrutiny.  At  len^.  .  „«u  i«uuiy 
.., owed  that  he  would  be  the  willing  servant  of  any  friend 
of  the  doctor  s.  the  latter  went  on  his  way.  and  Bob  and  I 
.etired  to  an  mner  room,  an  apartment  ahnost  bare  of 
ornament  or  furniture,  but  happily  separated  by  a  parti- 
turn  from  the  torrid  cLine  of  the  kitchen.  Here  we  began 
to  review  the  situation. 

It's  seldom  I  sing  me  songs  to  anybody  nowadays," 

4S 


th  the  u::.der- 
?at  vigor  to 
ere  subject- 
Bob  loudly 


I  f     / 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

said  old  Bob.  "The  time  was  when  a  man  was  thought 
somethin'  of  if  he  could  set  up  f er  a  whole  evenin'  and  sing 
the  old  English  songs,  but  now  a  man'»  no  good  onless  he 
kin  sing  these  new-fangled  Yankee  songs  with  no  sense 
nor  no  story  to  them." 

It  soon  appeared  that,  as  this  prologue  suggested,  Bob 
was  a  Britisher  of  intense  and  blazing  patriotism.  "Onct 
I  sung  a  song  fer  a  Yankee  sailor  about  the  Chesapeake 
and  the  Shannon,"  he  annoimced.  "It  was  a  good  song  too, 
an'  it  told  about  the  British  beatin'  the  Yankees  like  they 
deserved."  "He  was  a  younger  man  than  I  was,"  he  add- 
ed gleefully,  "an'  he'd  a'  licked  me  fer  it  if  they  hadn't 
been  too  many  Britishers  around  fer  him." 

It  may  seem  strange  that  this  flaming  enthusiasm  for 
the  British  flag  should  exist  in  a  man  who,  as  his  name  in- 
dicates, was  of  French  origin,  but  the  fact  is  that  the  same 
uncompromising  loyalty  towards  an  adopted  rather  than 
a  parent  land  is  manifested  by  all  the  people  of  Bob's  age, 
race,  and  condition  of  life  in  that  particular  part  of  Can- 
ada. Much  of  our  conversation  that  morning  was  about 
the  Battle  of  Waterloo,  and  Bob  became  as  excited  over 
the  topic  as  if  he  had  just  received  news  of  the  downfall 
of  Napoleon.  Bob's  elation  was  of  a  general  and  British 
character,  but  Little  Ned,  who  was  never  tired  of  dis- 
coursing on  the  same  great  theme,  had  always  shown  par- 
ticular zeal  over  the  prowess  of  "de  Scotch  Greys."  With- 
out their  able  assistance,  he  had  argued,  Wellington  could 
never  have  won  the  victory. 

In  a  later  chapter  I  shall  give  reasons  for  the  apparent 
recreancy  on  the  part  of  the  French  people  who  settled  in 
Nova  Scotia.  The  fact,  which  is  enough  to  state  now,  is 
that  they  immediately  went  to  work  to  take  over  the  tra- 


M 


Old   Bob  had   bern   In   hi*   day   a   mighty   singer  <if  ballads. 


I    I 


The  Discovery  of  Bob 

ditions — folk-lore,  patriotism,  and  all — of  the  Scotch  set- 
tlers with  whom  they  were  associated  and  from  wh  m  they 
learned  the  English  language.  Old  Bob,  Little  Med,  and 
their  fathers  before  them,  received  from  their  exiled  an- 
cestors of  two  or  three  generations  back  something  of  the 
French  temperament,  appearance,  and  manner  of  speech, 
but  in  the  way  of  tradition  and  belief  they  had  nothing 
which  had  not  been  borrowed  from  their  neighbors  in  the 
adopted  land. 

By  these  repeated  excursions  from  my  entertainer  to 
topics  merely  suggested  by  my  recollections  of  him  I  may 
give  the  impression  that  I  was  then  subjecting  my  new 
acquaintance  to  the  cool  scrutiny  of  the  man  of  sc'once. 
Nothing  could  be  further  from  the  truth.  My  whole  en- 
deavor was  to  establish  myself  in  the  character  of  sympa- 
thetic and  interested  auditor,  and  in  this  I  was  so  far  suc- 
cessful that  I  could  at  length  feel  that  there  would  be  no 
offense  in  suggesting  that  a  good  old-fashioned  song  should 
be  produced  to  enliven  the  occasion.  Bob  leaned  forward, 
fixed  his  gaze  earnestly  upon  a  knot  in  the  floor,  and 
"studied"  for  a  few  moments;  then,  throwing  back  his 
head  and  closing  his  eyes,  he  began  with  a  suddenness  and 
a  volimie  of  sound  that  for  the  moment  harrowed  me  with 
fear  and  wonder.  It  would  not  have  seemed  possible, 
without  auricular  evidence,  that  such  a  frail  old  body  could 
be  made  the  propelling  power  for  such  thunder-blasts  of 
music.  The  voice  was  now  cracked  and  hoarse,  and  peril- 
ously uncertain  on  the  upper  notes,  but  the  evidence  was 
clear  on  the  pomt  that  old  Bob  had  been  in  his  day  a 
mighty  singer  of  ballads. 

His  manner  of  delivery  was  different  from  that  of  Lit- 
tle Ned  and  of  many  other  singers  whom  I  have  heard 

45 


;"i 


1 1 


The  Quest  OP  THE  Ballad 
more  recently     They,  as  a  rule,  sang  with  a  careful  re- 
tardation  on  the  last  words  of  each  stanza;  but  Bob  pro- 
ceeded from  hne  to  line,  and  from  stanza  to  stanza,  with 
^he  greatest  rapidity  and  vehemence.    On  the  kst  line  of 
the  song,  however,  he  practiced  the  device  which  has  been 
used  by  every  ballad-singer  that  I  have  ever  Ustened  to. 
that  IS.  he  sang  the  first  part  of  the  line  in  the  regular  way 
with  eyes  closed  and  head  thrown  back,  then  made  a  swift 
and  sudden  descent  from  the  empyrean  of  music,  opened 
his  eyes,  leaned  forward,  glared  upon  his  audienceVand 
pronounced  the  last  few  words  in  an  emphatic  conversa- 
tional tone. 

This,  as  it  seems  to  me,  is  a  most  effective  way  of  ap- 
prismg  the  audience  that  the  story  is  rounded  out  and 
brought  to  a  victorious  conclusion.    It  is-to  introduce  an 

M^fl^^dT'^'f  "^J^**"*^-^'  '^  P««"«"«  *»«d  completed 
hs  flight,  brought  his  rider  safe  to  gromid.  and  Xwed 
him  to  spnng  hghtly  from  his  seat  to  converse  with  earth- 
treadmg  mortals  before  begimiing  the  next  ascension. 
And  the  symbolic  action  employed  for  the  production  of 
this  effect  IS  frequently  reenforced  by  an  emphatic  impact 
of  the  right  hand  upon  the  knee.  ^ 

The  first  song  had  no  title  that  Bob  had  ever  heard. 

Ye  km  call  it  what  ye  like."  he  assured  me  when  he  saw 

my  anxiety  to  know  how  it  had  been  referred  to  in  the 

W  t"!  w™,  ^  T^  """^^^  ^°^»-  One  would  not 
have  to  seek  far  for  the  implied  title,  but  since  from  Bob's 
pomt  of  view  the  song  was  of  great  importance  and  the 
title  negligible  I  shall  out  of  respect  for  his  memory  give 
the  song  in  full:  ^  «  '^ 


ffl 


The  Discovery  of  Bob 
'Twas  of  a  beautiful  damsel,  as  I  have  heard  it  told 
Her  father  died  and  left  her  five  thousand  pounds  m  gold. 
She  hvW  with  her  uncle,  as  you  may  plainly  see, 
And  she  loved  a  ploughboy  on  the  banks  of  sweet  Dundee. 

Herunclehadaploughboy.    Young  Mary  loved  him  welL 
And  m  her  uncle  s  garden  her  tales  of  love  would  tell. 


One  morning  very  early,  just  at  the  break  of  day 
Her  uncle  came  to  Mary,  and  then  to  her  did  say,* 
Ar.se,  young  lovely  Mary,  and  come  along  with  me. 
For  the  young  squire's  waiting  for  you  on  the  banks  of 
sweet  Dundee." 

"A  fig  for  all  your  squires,  your  dukes  and  lords  besides. 
For  young  WiUiam  he  appears  to  me  like  diamonds  in  my 

"Hold  on,"  said  her  unde,  "for  revengwi  on  you  I'U  be 
For  I  «U  banid,  WiUiam  ,„„  ,he  hanks  of  ^«J     ' 
Dundee. 

The  press-gang  came  on  William  as  he  was  aU  alone. 

?h.Si°,"?*  '"'  ^^""y  *°"«^  *»^«^  ™  ten  to  one. 
The  b  ood  did  fiow  m  torrents,  he  fought  so  manfuUy. 

He  d  rather  die  for  Mary  on  the  banks  of  sweet  Dndee. 
^e  morning  as  yomig  Mary  was  lamenting  for  her  love. 
She  meMhe  wealthy  young  squire  down  by  her  undl^ 

"'  Sudsh^™  *"'™'*  ^"'     "^^^  °^'  ^'^  °^'" 


i! 


«r 


'I 

I 


The  Quest  op  the  Ballad 

He  put  his  arms  around  her  and  strove  to  throw  her  down. 
Two  pistols  and  a  sword  she  spied  beneath  his  morning 
gown. 

Young  Mary  took  the  pistols,  the  sword  she  handled  free. 
She  fired  and  shot  the  squire  on  the  banks  of  sweet 
Dundee. 

Her  uncle  overheard  the  noise  and  hastened  to  the  ground. 
"Now  since  you've  killed  the  squire  I'll  give  you  your 
death-wound." 

"Keep  off,"  then  says  young  Mary.    "Undaunted  I  shall 
be." 

She  fired  and  shot  her  uncle  on  the  banks  of  sweet  Dundee. 

A  doctor  he  was  sent  for,  a  man  of  noted  skill. 
Likewise  there  came  a  lawyer  for  him  to  sign  his  will. 
He  signed  all  his  gold  to  Maiy,  who  fought  so  manfully. 
He  closed  his  eyes  no  more  to  rise  on  the  banks  of  sweet 
Dundee. 

Young  William  he  was  sent  for  and  speedily  did  return. 
As  soon  as  he  arrived  upon  the  shore  young  Mary  ceased 
to  mourn. 

The  banns  were  quickly  published,  their  hands  were  joined 
so  free. 

She  now  enjoys  her  ploughboy  on  the  banks  of  sweet 
Dundee. 

The  wall  of  reserve  was  now  demolished,  and  behind  the 
ruins  appeared  a  fair  garden  of  cantatory  fervor,  from 
which  Bob  continued,  without  any  urging  from  me,  to  send 
forth  resounding  peals  of  music.  Indeed,  my  chief  trouble 
now  was  to  persuade  him  to  pause  occasicmally  and  give 
me  a  song  in  such  form  that  I  could  copy  it  out.    He  sang 

48 


The  Discovebt  of  Bob 

so  rapidly  that  no  human  being  without  the  accomplSsh^ 
ment  of  shorthand  could  possibly  f  oUow  his  voice  with  pen 
and  paper.  Then,  when  he  attempted  to  repeat  the  aong 
without  the  music  he  had  to  go  pretty  rapidly  in  order  to 
mamtam  the  continuity  of  his  recitation;  and  ever  and 
anon  he  would  forget  a  line  and  suddenly  burst  '-^to  a  loud 
roar  of  song,  which  meant  that  he  was  "back  .  o»  to  go 
through  the  whole  stanza  in  the  hope  of  catch  u^.  .be  stub- 
bom  hne  off  its  guard. 

But  the  chief  of  my  troubles  on  this  morning  arose 
from  a  different  cause.    I  may  explam  that  I  was  still  the 
venest  amateur  at  the  great  sport  of  stalking  the  ballad, 
and  had  not  yet  learned  the  various  marks  by  which  the 
"iJ^if^P*"*""***  ^"°*^'  distinguishes  his  prey.     The 
Enghsh  and  Scottish  popuUr  ballads"  of  Child's  coUec- 
tion  I  had  become  familiar  with;  and,  with  Little  Ned's 
Lord  Thomas  and  Fair  Ellinor"  and  "Bolender  Martin" 
hauntmg  my  memory,  I  had  set  out  solely  to  procure  va- 
nant  versions  of  the  true  old  stock.    Everything  else  was 
droM  m  my  sight,  and,  while  I  copied  out  as  many  of  old 
Bob  s  songs  as  I  could.  I  did  so,  as  I  thought,  merely  to 
gratify  my  own  private  curiosity. 

But  to  return  to  the  perfonnance  of  Bob.  in  which,  I 
think  It  may  safely  be  assumed,  the  reader  is  more  inter- 
im nflT  l^i?"!  *"r?'^°'*' ^^  ^**^''' *"*«"^-  There 
were  other  baUads  of  the  same  general  nature  as  the  one 

I  have  cited.-brave  tales  of  distressed  but  resourceful 
maidens  and  young  men  of  humble  birth  and  noble  cuali- 
fications;  and,  interspersed  among  these,  were  some' stir- 

?c^f  „f  B  >  "'^f*'*'  ^^*^  P'"*''*  °'  ^*h  *he  national 
iTt^  r^  ^'"^  sea-baUads  were  held  in  the  great- 
est  esteem  by  Bob.  and  the  particular  one  that  found  su- 


f  .i 


■r 


.-II 

i 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 
preme  favor  in  his  eyes  was  "The  Little  Fighting  Chance." 

^  the  fourteenth  of  July  once  so  clear  was  the  skv 
We  saw  a  sassy  frigate  come  bearing  down  so  nigh, 
Come  beanng  down  upon  us  as  we  saUed  out  of  France 

cCce        '^'^  "^"^  ""*"***  "^^  '^^*  ^'"^^  Fighting 
Chorus. 

So  cheer  up,  my  lively  boys.    Let  it  never  be  said 
That  the  sons  of  old  Britannia  would  ever  be  afraid. 

If  I  had  been  a  listener  of  the  good  old-fashioned  sort  I 
could  not  have  sat  gazing  silently  and  impassively  at 
the  smger  who  was  making  this  passionate  appeal  to  my 
oyalty  and  manhness.    This  lack  of  the  pro^r  respond 
m  me  put  upon  old  Bob  the  constraint  of  piling  uV  my 
imperfections  m  hmiself.  and.  as  he  delivered  the  last  word 
of  the  brave  chorus,  he  opened  his  eyes,  glared  upon  me 
with  an  access  of  patriotic  fervor,  and  bellowed.  "Thev 
never  was  afraid  yit.  me  boyi"    Then,  having  supplied  the 
comment  which  he  should  have  had  merely  to  Stimulate, 
he  closed  his  eyes  and  proceeded  with  redoubled  vigor: 

We  gave  to  them  a  gun  and  the  battle  had  begun 
The  cannon  they  did  roar  and  the  bullets  they  did  flv 
It  was  broadside  for  broadside.    We  showed  them  ^dlant 
spore* 

And  to  see  the  lofty  yards  and  the  topmasts  roUiPg  over- 


50 


The  DncovERY  of  Bob 
We  fought  them  four  hours,  the  battle  w«  «,  hot 
Till  four  of  our  foremost  men  Uy  dead  u^th^  «nn* 
Sixteen  were  wounded,  made  tw«ty  ^  J^        "^ 
And  down  with  the  French  lilv  bov«  th.  k      u 

and  all.  ^'  ^*'  *"*  Frenchmen  one 

yZ7TI  ''~?  ^y''  *'"^  *^*^  Pri«^ «  our  own 
What  shall  we  do  for  iurv-niiistsf /«,  . 

And  ..riy  ae  next  ».™i„g  .„  I  ^Ift  king  „„ 

"ho  We  he.«l  it  deS^ST^     ^•'"-    ^"^  I- 
it  so  lifflitlv  for  T  „.™  ?r  ^*''  "■*■«•  """not  regird 

to  one  u,di«rimin.t.  d«,ghtep.teA    *^  ^*  ^""^ 
ilie  song  wlridi  followed  this  i.i.ri-» 

■"fun.  It,  inte«,t  lie,  to  S^  fort  1?!?^ '"''"*"* 
neat  combimition  of  .i-  .  ^'  "  *ow,  a  veiy 

topic  whicHlrbl^.!™  •"'^"y  irre«»cil.bfe 
Ms  just  preW^th^r  "P  separately  in  the  two  bal- 
victory  atL  •        '  '"'"""'*'  "^  "^  the  Bnglid, 


SI 


I  ■  I 


The  Quxst  of  the  Ballad 

A»  we  were  a  sailing  down  by  the  Spanish  shore 

Our  dnuis  they  did  beat  and  the  guns  loudly  roar. 

We  spied  a  lofty  admiral  ship  come  plou^^g  down  the 

main. 
Which  caused  us  to  hist  our  tops'ls  again. 

Come,  boys,  let  us  be  hearty,  come,  boys,  let  us  be  true, 
And  after  our  enemy  we  quickly  shall  pursue. 
Soon  as  we  overtake  them  upon  the  ocean  wide 
With  foresail  set  we'll  give  them  a  broadside. 

They  gave  to  us  another  as  good  as  we  sent. 

For  to  sink  each  other  was  our  whole  intent. 

At  the  very  second  broadside  our  captam  he  was  slain. 

Up  steps  a  damsel  his  place  for  to  maintain. 

"O  quarters,  O  quarters,  my  brave  British  boys." 
"No  quarters,  no  quarters,"  the  damsel  she  replies. 
"You  have  the  best  of  quarters  I  can  to  you  afFord. 
You  must  fight,  strike,  or  sink,  my  boys,  or  jump  over- 
board." 

Now  since  we  gained  the  victory  we'll  drink  a  glass  of  wine. 
Drink  to  your  own  true  love  and  I'll  drink  to  mine. 
Here's  a  health  imto  the  damsel,  the  damsel  of  fame, 
So  boldly  she  fought  on  the  Union  by  name. 

As  Bob  sang  I  made  efforts  to  copy,  or,  when  the  mo- 
tion was  too  swift  for  me,  I  leaned  back,  closed  my  eyes 
in  imitation  of  my  entertainer,  and  resigned  myself  to  the 
pleasant  task  of  learning  some  of  the  times.  The  two  old 
sisters  hovered  about,  as  Othello  says  of  Desdemona, 


5* 


Th»  Dmcovht  of  Bob 

^titill  tiie  hoiMe  affair,  would  caU  them  thence 
Wbc*  ever  ..  they  could  with  harte  di.pir^' 
They  d  come  agam  and  with  a  greedy  ear 
Devour  up  Bob'i  diacourse. 

If  the  song  happened  to  have  a  refrain  they  would  inJn 
in.  and  frequently  they  would  ««>mp^y^  ^^^1^ 
Ime  or  a  stanza  which  had  lod«ed  itsenffK^  *?  ■ 

And  .t  dl  time,  they  comS^ty  ^"^'^ 
-nt.  which  their  brother  was  celebX  in^tS 

had  been  C^J^^J'T  ^"J  ^'^  •"^  *"  «»* 
Bob  laid  aside  hTJlit  a^rd^r„t't:^f  ^^^{^  i*. 
him  the  spirit  of  poetry  wT^r^^  u  n^*"  ^^^'  *»"*  ^ 
gross  des4  for  b^^«^  "1*  ^^^^^^  supplanted  by 
nounced.  as  he  laidlJffoM^  k  T  *  "**°  °"**'"  ^«  "- 
made  up  a  piJL  of  ^t '  .^  ^'^^  T"  ^'  P^*<^'  "that 
rU  give  it  to^:     ^     ^  ^*"  *  "*^"»  °°  '^^^  dinner,  and 

Some  hev  meat  and  cannot  eat, 

^d  some  would  eat  that  hev  no  meat. 

But  we  hev  meat  and  we  kin  eat. 
And  so  God  bless  the  giver. 

M 


lAM 


li 

-I 


-=fi 


Thl  Quxn*  OF  TH»  Ballad 

ceives  during  the  process  of  oral  transmission,  I  addressed 
myself  to  the  business  in  huid. 

While  we  were  partaking  of  the  food  thus  consecrated. 
Bob  and  his  sisters  were  moved  to  discourse  upon  that 
period  of  their  lives  wh:. !  '.ad  been  called  up  by  the  per- 
formance of  the  morning.    Though  they  were  now  living 
hard  by  the  sea-coast,  they  had  spent  their  earlier  years  in 
New  Annan,  a  Scotch  settlement  about  twenty  miles  in- 
land.   Bob  had  been  a  cobbler  by  trade.    He  had  worked 
his  bit  of  land  in  season,  and,  when  occasion  called,  had 
gne  from  house  to  house  building  and  repairing  shoes. 
His  love  of  ballads  was  such  an  early  growth  that  he  could 
not  remember  the  time  when  he  had  not  immediately  ap- 
propriated and  tucked  away  in  his  capacious  memory  every 
new  one  that  came  in  his  path;  and  since  in  his  capacity 
of  Itinerant  cobbler  he  had  visited  from  time  to  time  most 
of  the  homes  in  a  singing  community,  he  had  had  ample 
opportumty  of  acquiring  new  songs  in  exchange  for  old 
ones.    "Ah,  sir,"  cried  old  Kitty,  moved  by  these  reminis- 
cences to  a  burst  of  enthusiasm  for  the  splendor  of  the 
past,  "it  was  nawthin'  but  singin*  an*  dancin'  in  them  days. 
Many's  the  time  we  would  take  hold  of  hands  an'  go 
through  the  fields  to  a  dance  singin'  the  old  soniw  to- 
gether." * 

After  the  family  had  moved  down  to  Tatamagouche 
which  was  about  thirty  years  before  I  made  their  acquain- 
tance, Bob  had  learned  most  of  his  sea-songs,  and  these  I 
suspect,  had  had  the  effect  of  crowding  out  some  of  the 
older  ballads  which  he  had  learned  in  New  Aiman.  They 
had,  of  course,  made  their  special  appeal  to  his  fervid 
patriotism,  which  would  give  them  an  advantage  over 
most  of  the  "English  and  Scottish  popular  baUads"  of  the 

54 


The  Ducovkxy  of  Bob 


found  out  b,  iMuiJLZu'^^  tr.'  Z  ""'■'  r  .' 
oW  lr«i,tion.l  Scotch  b,ll«b  to  thL  » J  ^u'"^  **" 
«idif««  of  newer  nutcriltSfeNrii  ^*''  ""^  ''* 

Tbe  diffc«„ce.  t^  ^^c^  " '"X,"  <"  »'!»'  thing., 
ception,  of  the  old  wtJZ!Z  '''*~'   ^'^'*  «». 

thoK  of  Bob  "'°"  "»•"*«"  «<!  «treme  th« 

pout:e^:.d"^.':*e^c::,^!^■r*'^  ■*-  »'-'• 

"e  <in.IIy  purf,«J  orcSC'i'^  *^''  J^-  ^^ 
"or  pipe,.  Maggie,  the  y^^of^r^*^  •"  '"«' 
nounced  th.t  .he  h,d  ,  CT^I*  i.  ^  ''^•"'  "• 
/or  me  "while  Bob  "4  ^ttl  .*,'  ""  «°'»8  *"  >i"g 
!»*  her  sing  «,,!  !,f ""  ~'' '  "P-"  I  cheerfully 
"■egan  with  .  pJanffe.       ,.      ^"^  ^P°«^  '«"<'l'  «nd 

Your  love  it  c„  Z  1  !f  *      """^  ""' 

con^nt.then.to':^'::^^.':^;''^.-, 

as 


f  . 


Ths  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

With  blushes  as  charming  as  roses  in  June 

She  answered  "Dear  William,  to  wed  I'm  too  young; 

For  young  men  are  fickle,  I  see  very  plain. 

If  a  maiden  is  kind  her  they  quickly  disdain." 

"My  charming  sweet  Mary,  how  can  you  say  so? 
Thy  beauty  is  the  heaven  to  which  I  would  go. 
And  if  there  I  find  channel  if  I  chance  for  to  steer 
I  there  will  cast  anchor  and  stay  with  my  dear." 

But  yet  'twas  in  vain  she  strove  to  deny. 
For  he  by  his  cunning  soon  made  her  comply. 
And  by  base  deceptions  he  did  her  betray. 
In  sin's  hellish  paths  he  led  her  astray. 

Now  when  this  young  damsel  with  child  she  did  prove 
She  soon  sent  her  tidings  to  her  faithless  love. 
Who  swore  by  the  heavens  that  he  would  prove  true. 
And  said,  "I  will  marry  r>o  damsel  but  you." 

Things  passed  on  a  wbi^.       \.t  length  we  do  hear 
His  ship  was  a-sailing,  for  sea  he  must  steer, 
Which  pained  this  poor  damsel  and  woimded  her  heart. 
To  think  with  her  true  }ove  she  must  part. 

Cried  she.  "Dearest  "  '^ill,  ere  you  go  to  sea 
Remember  the  vuws  yuu  have  made  imto  me. 
If  at  home  you  don't  tarry  I  never  can  rest. 
O  how  can  you  leave  me  with  sorrows  oppressed?" 

With  tender  expressions  he  to  her  did  say, 
"I'll  marry  my  Mary  ere  I  go  to  sea. 
And  if  that  to-morrow  my  love  can  ride  down. 
The  ring  I  can  buy  our  fond  union  to  crown." 


The  Discotebt  of  Bob 
With  tender  embraces  they  parted  that  night 
And  promised  to  meet  the  next  morning  aTlight 
Wdliam  said.  "Maiy,  you  must  go  with  me 
Jiefore  we  are  married  our  friends  for  to  see." 

Atl^^^'*^''''^?^''''  "*^  ^•"^»  «>  deep. 
At  length  this  poor  damsel  began  for  to  ween 
Cjymg.  "Willie,  I  fear  you  wSTead  me  Zt 
Un  purpose  my  innocent  life  to  betray." 

¥ort^lT'l?^'"^'^«^^-   All  earth  can't  you  sa^e 
^r  the  whole  of  last  night  I  was  digging  your  ^y?^' 

When  poor  Mary  did  hear  him  say  sT  ^ 

The  tears  from  her  eyes  like  a  fountain  did  flow. 

I^/J.^°'^r,^"'*'    0«P«re  my  poor  life. 

Let  me  hve  f ull  of  shame  if  I  can'?lte  your  wife 
O  teke  not  my  life  lest  my  soul  you  betray 
And  you  to  perdition  be  hurried  aw^/^^' 

"There  is  no  time  disputing  to  stand." 
But  mstantly  taking  a  knife  in  his  hand 

On  board  .yph,„,^^^^Jrt.^ 
And  «t  «a  for  P,y„o„a.  ^  p^^^'^ 

LT^I^  n™«"  Stwiirt  of  coa«ge  w  bold 
^  mghl  happened  Ute  for  to  aoTtt^  Zu 
Where  .  be.„tifu]  d«„«l  to  hirn^".^'* 
And  , hem  her  .n™  held  „i„fJ'lS'^ 

47 


t  r- 


\J 


« 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

Being  merry  with  liquor  he  went  to  embrace, 
Transported  with  joy  at  beholding  her  face; 
When  to  his  amazement  she  vanished  away, 
Which  he  told  to  the  captain  without  more  delay. 

The  captain  soon  summoned  his  jovial  ship's  crew. 
And  said,  "My  brave  fellows,  I'm  afraid  some  of  you 
Have  murdered  some  damsel  ere  you  came  away, 
Whose  injured  ghost  now  haunts  on  the  sea. 

"Whoever  you  be,  if  the  truth  you  deny. 

When  found  out  you'll  be  hanged  on  the  gallows  so  high. 

But  he  who  confesses  his  life  we'll  not  take. 

But  leave  him  upon  the  first  island  we  make." 

Then  William  immediately  fell  to  his  knees. 
The  blood  in  his  veins  quick  with  horror  did  freeze. 
He  cried,  "Cruel  murderer,  what  have  I  done? 
God  help  me,  I  fear  my  poor  soul  is  undone. 

"Poor  injured  ghost,  your  full  pardon  I  crave. 
For  soon  I  must  follow  you  down  to  the  grave." 
No  one  else  but  this  poor  wretch  beheld  the  sad  sight, 
And  raving  distracted  he  died  that  same  night. 

Now  when  her  sad  parents  these  tidings  did  hear. 
Soon  searched  for  the  body  of  their  daughter  so  dear. 
In  the  town  of  Southampton  in  a  valley  so  deep. 
Her  body  was  found,  which  caused  many  to  weep. 

In  Gaspard's  green  churchyard  her  ashes  now  lie. 
And  we  hope  that  her  soul  is  with  God  in  the  sky. 
So  let  this  sad  tale  be  a  warning  to  all 
Wlio  dare  an  innocent  young  maid  to  enthrall. 


M 


The  Ducoveby  of  Bob 

heroin.-.  loH^i^J^^l:^  ""  "  *^ 
ter-stroke  of  villainy:  *'"'*'"«<»  ^  execute  his  mas- 

He  led  her  through  groves  and  va»-  -ys  so  deen 

^^mg,    Wilhe.  I  fear  you  will  lead  me  astrav 
On  purpose  my  imioeent  life  to  betra""  ^' 

Jhen  followed  the  eool  and  murderous  «sponse  of  WU- 

nignt  1  was  diggmg  your  grave." 

jeoIllLirLrdto^X^^^^^ 

fer  a  minute  or  twol"    Then  w^H.  ™  ^  ***"  ^^^^^^ 

pathos  of  the  situation  "Ah  thT  n  *  '""^'^T*  '"'''  "^  **»« 
the  tears  out  o'  meTv^ti;  7T  P"*'  ^  ^«»'t  ^^^P 
sister,  swelling  whh  2^;^ Ji'r^^^^j^fhe'r'    But  K. 

evoking.  hadLw  goTsTver^^^^^^^^  *^'  *PP**"^  ^  -«« 
'>ad  stimulated  Bohtj^ltThu^^^^^  ^'^  ^°^'  "^"^^ 

Mag^rBirrraJetr^^^^  r  'i  '-v--  *^^  ^^^  ^^ 

it  for  me  on  a  suCuenTJ^    '^  ^'°  ^'*"^  ^^^  ««»« 
J'-d  hit  upon  the  Sme  If         ""  *^'''  "^^  ^'*'  «»d  I 

o«ler  to  double  IhrsS  of  tr"'^,^"*^  '^^  «»^"*  « 
speed  of  the  work.    If  j  had  to  relv 

59  -^ 


'«:!• 


The  QrnuT  or  the  Ballad 

upon  the  results  of  this  my  first  visit,  the  "Gaspard  Tng. 
edy"  should  go  unrecorded  so  far  as  I  am  concerned.  It 
impressed  me  then  as  being  one  of  the  most  interesting 
songs  I  had  heard  that  day,  and  I  at  once  made  the  effort 
to  copy  it;  but  I  might  as  well  have  tried  to  capture  a 
wireless  message.  Old  Maggie  could  make  an  easy  and 
unhesitating  passage  through  the  ballad  on  the  wings  of 
song,  but,  divested  of  these  wings,  she  became  incapable  of 
the  slightest  progress;  nor  could  she,  though  with  the  best 
intentions,  go  slowly  enough  with  her  singing  for  me  to 
get  the  words  down. 

But  at  this  unhappy  juncture  Bob,  who  had  been  earn- 
estly "studying"  with  his  head  in  his  hands,  suddenly 
leaned  back  with  his  eyes  tightly  dosed,  and  resolved  him- 
self  into  a  tornado  of  song: 

Arise,  arise,  ye  seven  brethren. 

And  put  on  your  armours  bri|^t 
Arise  and  take  care  of  your  younger  sister. 

For  your  eldest  went  away  hist  night. 

Then  was  the  oil  of  gladness  straightway  poured  upon 
my  troubled  head,  for  this  was  an  "English  and  Scottish 
popiUar  ballad"  at  last.  Old  Kitty  and  I  settled  our  backs 
against  the  wall  and  drew  on  our  pipes  with  a  contentment 
which  no  elusive  ship-carpenter  could  mar,  while  Bob,  rag- 
ing like  one  inspired,  whirled  onward  through  the  rever- 
berating stan2as. 

'Twas  on  the  road,  'twas  away  they  rode, 

Twas  all  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 
Until  he  looked  over  his  left  shoulder 

And  saw  her  seven  brethren  drawing  nigh. 

eo 


The  Dibcoteby  of  Bob 
"Lie  down,  lie  down,  Lady  Margret,"  he  said. 

And  by  my  two  steeds  stand, 
Unta  I  fight  thy  seven  brethren. 
And  thy  father,  who's  nigh  at  hand." 

She  stood  and  saw  her  seven  brethren  faU 
Without  shedding  a  tear, 

Until  she  saw  her  father  fall 

Whom  she  lovM  so  dear, 

For  thy  stroke  it  is  wonderful  sore. 
For  It  8  many's  the  true  love  I  might  have  had. 
But  a  father  I'll  never  have  more." 

She  took  her  white  pocket-handkerehief. 

That  was  made  of  the  hollands  fine. 
And  wiped  her  father's  bloody  bloody  wound 

That  run  redder  than  the  wine. 

"Ch^ae  ye.  choose  ye.  Lady  Margret."  he  said. 
Will  you  here  abide?"  ^ 

"Ono,  I  must  go  wheresoever  you  go, 
For  you've  left  me  here  no  guide:" 

He  mounted  her  on  his  milky  white  steed. 
And  he  on  his  dappled  gray.  ^ 

The  bugle  horn  hung  by  his  side. 
And  slowly  they  rode  away. 

'TWM  on  the  road,  'twas  away  they  rode. 

Until  they  came  to  the  Erint  waters, 
^hat  was  raging  like  the  main. 

61 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 
He  lighted  down  to  take  a  drink 

Of  the  spring  that  run  so  clear, 
And  down  the  stream  run  his  good  heart's  blood. 

aore  she  begun  to  fear. 

"Lie  down,  lie  down.  Lord  William,"  she  said, 

"For  you  are  a  slain  man." 
"O  no,  it  is  your  scarlet  red  cloak 
That's  reflecting  on  the  main." 
'Twas  on  the  road,  'twas  away  they  rode, 

'Twas  all  by  the  light  of  the  mo^n. 
Until  they  came  to  his  mother's  chamber  door. 

And  there  they  lighted  down. 
"Arise,  arise,  dear  mother,"  he  says, 

"Arise  and  let  us  in. 
For  by  all  the  powers  that  is  above 

This  night  my  love  I've  won." 
"O  mother,  mother,  make  us  a  bed. 

And  sheathe  it  with  the  hoUands  fine. 
And  lay  Lady  Margret  by  my  side 
And  sound  sound  sleep  we'll  take." 

Lord  William  he  died  at  the  middle  of  the  night. 

Lady  Margret  ere  it  was  day, 
And  ever\'  true  lovers  that  goes  together 

I  wish  them  more  luck  than  they. 

When  Bob  opened  his  eyes  upon  the  last  line  of  the 
ballad  I  was  waiting  with  raised  pencil  to  conduct  l-im 
through  «  second  and  more  prosaic  re<:ital;  and  when  1 
left  th**  abode  of  song  late  that  aftemoc*,.  with  my  riirfit 
arm  hanging  limp  from  the  shoulder,  my  comfort  was  ^at 
1  had,  at  feast,  discovered  one  gleaming  niigget  in  the 
mine  of  base  metals. 

62 


I' 


CHAPTER  FIVE 
Rimes  op  an  Ancient  Makineb 

P«c«,i„g  chapter  is  J^^^'TZ  S:":!"^'  "I 
«n  extremely  iimoeenl  .nri  .n,..  ™  ""^  "roggles  of 
—tter  of  faet  V^fj^  «"«tam»l.  coUeetor.     As  , 

*e  English  »d^S"Cprr",,rr  tr'""'" 

tHjn  h«l  been  fired  by  a  re^ijg  "  S,Zor  Chiir'*"'- 
«>lleetion,  and  I  had  noted  with  .  JL  .    '"*  »  ««•' 

many  of  the  best  n,™kl     "  .u    «"™«  excitement  that 

«ntofa,"X^" '".«"'  ""r"""  "^«  ™»™'- 

entertained  by^L:!^  tt'jll^u'i  t"'  '  ""'.  "^ 
m.ttent  seareh.  then,  only  with^K'  •  *"  "^  """" 
'oeal  versions  of  thi  «Ltal  „M  ?T  *°  ?««"'  «>■"< 
more  enlightened  IfT^     .   "!*''•    »"*  ">»  "ther 

new    ffht      I  Ip»rr,o^        presented   Bob  m   an  entirely 

--".  .Ae  is  L  trnetuSo'r ,  ~'''^°'  "■-* 

"««ly.  that  no  popular  veZn  J  '''»™"«««nent, 

cient  or  modem,  cTteJ!^",""'  ""^  '"«  of  b.ll«I.  an- 


j! 


The  Quxst  or  the  Ballad 
Dick  Hinds.  During  his  youth  and  prime  Dick  foUowed 
the  sea  mtermrttently ;  then  he  settled  down  for  good  and 
^mtheviUage.  Here  he  wrought  as  occasiofoffered 
or  as  (AiU  penury  demanded,  and  here  as  elsewhere  he 
fashwned  many  a  subtle  demonstration  of  his  great  dis- 
covery that  the  world  is  flat.  Times  without  nSr^ 
my  youthful  days  I  have  looked  on  while  Dick,  with  penal 
or^alk  m  hand,  has  sketched  his  pUn  of  the  world  on  a 

L^UKi*  Ju'  ''J**^''*'  """^^  ™  'o'  *he  moment 
;ifll    '  T^  ^^'  ^"^  ^'  trimnphant  challenge  to  the 

flat  as  the  background  on  which  it  was  then  being  repre- 
s»  ed^^or  to  maintain,  if  they  dared,  that  any  spot  on  this 
Ts^  Pdr*"  "^"^n^Wy  be  called  N^rth  Pole 

Dick  had  various  devices  for  holding  off  the  gaunt  wolf 

"throw  *"'"•:"  ^r'"*  **  *^^^  -  night^atcCn' 
in  the  old  saw-miU  on  the  river-bank.  Thither,  on  winter 
evemngs  would  I  repair  joyously,  to  be  receiv  d"  7^ 
^e  cordiality  aj,d  good-feUowship  as  if  I  had  been  Z 
old  sailors  equal  in  years  and  in  understanding.     He 

ThildTh  k!:?  *  ""1^'  °^  '"^^^  ^°"*^»^"  ^  «  ^™  spot 
listen  to  such  wisdom  as  no  schoolbook  ever  afforded, 
London  and  Liverpool  were  glowingly  described  from  the 
siu  or  s  point  of  view,  the  political  situation  in  CanadTwas 
cnticaUy  reviewed,  and  the  Scriptures  were  f «X  ™ 
pomided.  But  whatever  the  topic  might  chance  to  be  It 
was  always  introduced  by  a  leading  Aion.  p'^de^* 
wll  f ""f*.  Wa^n*  s^^^'ty.  though  Dick's  only^se 

h'arel"  a„T?      '  *°P•^^^-''y  "^^  «t-ngly  befoTL^ 
hearer,  and  he  never  asked  the  question  without  having 


64 


Rimes  or  an  Awcunt  AiAUNn 

his  own  answer  ready  to  give  after  a  suiUble  Dau».  fn. 
further  emphasis.    "What."  he  would  «t  T  ^-  T 
"Wh«t  HiH  *)..  T   -J  .  "***  "*•  '^^  m«t«nce, 

led  huge  cloud,  of  tolacco-raoke    T^  filT  •       ^^ 

puceonairth!  England,  the  ruler  of  the  mrfj  .i,.  _.l 

of  science,  uid  the  seat  of  Umin'l"  '*  *^  "* 

Ammg  Kck-.  faKin.tioD.  for  the  young  wm  «,  ,„„ 

Pirate.     wLthr^t,d"™?K^  ***.'*^'  "'  ^'"^  «« 

.o^ihejfrs- -  T^rtrT;:;.'-  - 
weirsirt&e::^,^^:^^^!^- perfectly 

•"d  no  song,  with  th^L   r         ^  ™  """*  «»'  »» 

the  ..king.     However,  ^XtSld'^ '""'"'* 
round,  and  I  «pri„.j  ^         wMnd  sununer  came 

to  'heC  i  e  j^ffr'i'tr:^;'""'.  "^  '^^  »?«•«« 

>ny  previous  negleJI  ■•<>  t««  in  making  up  for 

-Pertory.  hut  BoVa  ooliron^^l^Zl^Lt'tS 

65 


11 


V 


I 

V        * 


v\ 


TwL  Qunr  of  thk  Ballad 

compired  with  Dick's.    The  latter  had  begun  by  learning 
some  traditional  ballads  current  in  Nova  Scotia  in  his 
youth;  during  his  seagoing  days  he  had  acquired  further 
ballads  and  countless  sea-songs  from  his  companions  in 
the  forecastle;  and  he  had  added  to  the  complexity  of  the 
list  by  making  several  additions  gathered  from  the  streets, 
wharves,  and  music-halls  of  the  various  cities  which  he  had 
visited  in  his  travels.    This  puazling  collection  he  himself 
regarded  with  great  cahnness  and  impartiality,  and  there 
were  only  two  specimens  that  he  marked  for  special  ap- 
proval.   These  were  "Kelly  the  Pirate"  and  "Jack  Dona- 
hue."  The  first  I  shall  have  occasion  to  discuss  in  another 
chapter,  but  the  second  I  should  like  to  present  here.    In 
one  form  or  another  it  has  been  sung  m  Australia,  Great 
Britain,  Canada,  and  the  United  SUtes;  and  this  is  one 
of  my  reasons  for  presenting  Dick's  version,  which  is  more 
detailed  and  complete  than  the  ones  usually  found.    But 
my  chief  reason  is  that  I  have  heard  Dick  sing  it  so  often 
and  so  ardently  that  without  it  my  recoUections  of  him 
would  be  strikingly  incomplete. 

Come  all  you  gallant  bushrangers  and  outlaws  of  disdain, 
Who  scorn  to  dwell  in  slavery  or  wear  the  brands  of  chains. 
Attention  pay  to  what  I  say,  and  value  it  if  you  do, 
I  will  relate  the  matchless  fate  of  bold  Jack  Donahue. 

This  bold  undaunted  highwayman,  as  you  shall  under- 
stand. 

He  was  banished  for  his  natural  life  from  Erin's  happy 
land. 

In  Dublin  city  of  renown  his  first  breath  ever  he  drew. 
And  his  deeds  of  valor  entitled  him  of  bold  Jack  Donahue. 


M 


Run  OF  iir  Ax  asNT  MUmnfB 

Thqr  we«  th.  four  M^cUte,  of  boU  J«k  D«,rtue 
Sd'lSr.!i  '»  ■*  t^"  »  «»  »i<Wl.  «f  hi.  prime 

^"'.'fl'"  •"  ««  comtobk.  of  Sydney  i, ,  ^ew 
^^^  re^bed  U»  S,Ly*^jS'C«t  J«k 

""^ty""  '"'**"''  -  *»"'  the  ,^  by  ^, 
A»d^«7  d.y  tt.  ..„,.,„  ,^  p^yj^  ^___^^^^ 

Co»«™i„g  of  «„t  highw.y„«.  they  odled  J.ek  IW 

them  soon,  ^  *°**  ^°^^  «ffl»ct 

To  their  nirprise  the  horse-police  wdl«««i^ 

A»a.,„.eh«„.etheydid^rt^br;^:r' 
S«d  Do„.h„e  U,  hi.  eompani™..  "„  ,„„.„  ^  ^  ^• 

«7 


MICROCOPY   RESOLUTION  TEST  CHART 

(ANSI  ond  (SO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


1.0 


1.1 


2.5 

3.2 

b£   IIIIIJ£ 


1.8 


>1PPLIED  IM^GE    Inc 

1653    East   Mom   Slrefl 

Rochester,   r^w   York         1*609        USA 

(716)  i.e2  -  0300  -Plione 

('16)   288  -  5989  -  To. 


I 


w 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 
"O  no,"  said  cowardly  Wangelo.  "such  things  can  never  be. 
Don't  you  see  there's  eight  or  ten  of  them?    It's  time  for 

us  to  flee. 
And  if  we  wait  we'll  be  too  late,  and  the  battle  we  11  surely 

"Then  begone  from  me.  you  cowardly  dogs,"  cried  bold 

Jack  Donahue. 
The  sergeant  said  to  Donahue,  "Discharge  your  carabine. 
Or  do  you  intend  to  fight  with  us  or  unto  us  to  resign? 
"To  surrender  to  such  cowardly  dogs  I  never  mtend  to  do. 
This  day  I'll  fight  for  Uberty,"  cried  bold  Jack  Donahue. 
"Now  if  they  had  been  true  to  me  I  would  recall  their 

fame.  .         . 

But  now  the  people  will  look  on  them  with  scorn  and  great 

disdain. 
I'd  rather  range  the  wild  woods  round  like  a  wolf  or  a 

kangaroo  j  u  u  t    i- 

Than  I'd  work  one  hour  for  government,"  cned  bold  Jack 

Donahue. 
The  sergeant  and  the  corporal  they  did  their  men  divide. 
Some  men  fired  behind  him  and  others  at  his  side. 
The  sergeant  and  the  corporal  they  both  fired  at  hrni  too 
Till  at  length  a  ball  it  pierced  the  heart  of  bold  Jack 

Donahue. 
Nine  rounds  he  fired  and  shot  five  police  before  the  fatal 

That  pierced  the  heart  of  Donahue  and  caused  him  for  to 

And  as  he  closed  his  struggling  eyes  he  bade  the  world 

Kind*  Christians  all,  pray  for  the  soul  of  bold  Jack 

Donahue. 

6S 


"Woman !  the  companion  of  man  an'  he's  rock  of  salvation  in  times  of 
affllitioii  an'  sorrali." 


II 


IMI 


Rimes  02^  a.\  siMcasr  Mabines 

There  is  in  this  ball.^  ?  a  fine  resonance  and  a  rhetorical 
sweep  that  made  a  lai;ge  appeal  to  Dick,  whose  own  speech 
savored  richly  of  these  qualities.  But  even  in  such  cases 
as  this,  where  his  enthusiasm  was  greatest,  his  manifesta- 
tion of  it  was  of  the  briefest  duration.  Opening  b  .  eyes 
as  he  delivered  the  last  line,  he  would  smite  his  knee  vigor- 
ously and  in  a  loud  voice  annoimce  the  name  of  the  song: 
"Jack  Donahue  the  Highwayman!"  or  "Kelly  the  Pirate  1" 
and  then  lapse  into  that  meditative  mood  which  was  the 
prelude  to  some  high  theme  such  as  the  House  of  Lords, 
"the  only  body  of  free  men  in  the  Parlyaments  of  the 
world."  Or,  if  the  ballad  happened  to  be  a  tale  of  the 
dauntless  maid  who  has  always  been  so  dear  to  the  popular 
imagination,  some  such  question  as  this  would  follow: 
"What  is  the  noblest  creature  that  God  ever  created  on 
airth?"  Then  in  due  time  would  come  Dick's  own  ringing 
response:  "Woman!  the  companion  of  man  an*  he's  rock 
of  salvation  in  times  of  affliction  an'  sorrah!" 

When  Dick  was  minded  to  uphold  such  hypotheses  as 
this  last  one  he  had  small  support  from  the  quarter  where 
he  should  most  have  expected  it.  His  wife,  whom  he 
treated  with  distinguished  courtesy,  calling  her  "Lady 
Hinds"  in  moments  of  expansion,  always  met  these  rhap- 
sodies with  disdain,  and  would  interrupt  her  husband's 
flight  with  a  request  to  "stop  his  fullish  talk  an'  go  on 
with  his  singin'."  Whereat  Dick  would  stoutly  maintain 
that  he  meant  what  he  said  and  that  no  one  knew  this  bet- 
ter than  Lady  Hinds  herself.  But  in  the  end  he  always 
made  a  practical  demonstration  of  his  sincerity  by  giving 
in  goodnaturedly  and  proceeding  with  the  next  song. 

In  the  brief  space  that  I  have  allotted  to  Dick  in  these 
chronicles  it  would  be  utterly  impossible  for  me  to  give 


i-*^ 


h 


The  Quoft  of  the  Ballad 

any  just  conception  )'  the  infinite  variety  exhibited  by  the 
songs  and  baUads  which  he  sang  for  me  from  time  to  time. 
I  visited  him  repeatedly  in  order  to  procure  the  fresh  ones 
that  kept  rising  to  the  surface  of  his  memory,  and,  al- 
though on  many  successive  occasions  he  gave  every  out- 
ward sign  of  being  "sung  out,"  he  would  just  as  regularly 
meet  me  a  day  or  two  later  with  the  hearty  greeting,  "I 
thought  up  another  song  f er  ye  last  night  after  I  went  to 
bed.  Bring  yer  missis  around  any  time  an'  ye  can  have 
it."  Besides,  when  ladies  and  gentlemen  are  spending  a 
social  evening  together  they  can  hardly  be  expected  to  put 
in  all  their  time  at  the  mechanical  business  of  repeating 

and  copjring  songs.  ,   .    «  ^ 

Many  of  Dick's  baUads  had  evidently  made  their  first 
appeal  to  him  because  they  presented  tales  of  picturesque 
heroes  with  sounding  names.  I  have  already  suggested 
this  in  the  case  of  Jack  Donahue.  Other  protagonists 
were  Dick  Turpin,  Jack  Shepard,  and  the  great  soldier  of 
Canadian  history  who,  in  Dick's  glowing  version,  is  thus 
pictured  in  the  hour  of  his  crowning  triumph: 

Brave  Wolfe  drew  up  his  men 

In  a  line  so  pritty 
On  the  pla^.s  of  Abraham 

Before  the  city. 

But  countless  other  heroes  in  the  collection  were  nameless, 
or  appeared  under  such  nondescript  appellations  as  John 
or  Frank.  Of  the  latter  sort  was  the  chief  actor  in  "The 
Liverpool  Landlady,"  a  baUad  which  was  given  to  me  in 
one  form  by  Dick,  and  in  another,  under  the  title  "Green 
Beds,"  by  Bob  Langille.  Dick's  version  begins  with  he 
terse  expository  stanza, 

70 


■'^^'P-.v 


RlMX8  OF  AX  AnCXENT  MaUNXB 

I'll  tell  you  a  story,  I'll  not  keep  you  Icmg, 

Concerning  a  sailor  mhoat  name  it  was  John. 

He  made  a  gallant  voyage  to  sea  and  just  relumed  to 

shore. 
He  was  ragged  and  dirty  as  though  he  was  poor. 

The  last  line  hints  vaguely,  but  truly,  that  John  may 
not  be  quite  so  poor  as  he  seems,  and  this  fact  is  discovered 
with  tragic  belatedness  by  his  Liverpool  landlady,  who 
at  first  refuses  to  give  him  credit  or  to  allow  him  to  court 
her  daughter,  and  then  makes  a  gross  and  ineffectual  at- 
tempt to  treat  the  whole  affair  as  a  joke  when  John  thrusts 
his  hands  into  his  ragged  pockets  aad  brings  them  out 
loaded  with  gold. 

This  ballad,  standing  as  it  does  with  "one  foot  in  sea 
and  one  on  shore,"  must  Lave  awakened  tender  monoiies 
in  nuL^y  a  listener  in  the  fo'c'stle.  Dick  had  several  ex- 
amples of  such  amphibious  song,  notably  "The  Tiger  and 
the  Lion."  This  one,  however,  barely  touched  the  solid 
earth  before  plunging  out  to  sea  and  into  a  series  of  ad- 
ventures culminating  in  a  ship-to-ship  encoimter  in  which 
"bold  Dig^ton"  led  his  followers  to  a  glorious  and  com- 
plete slaughter  of  the  French.  But  I  had  much  better 
allow  the  ballad  to  appear  and  demonstrate  in  its  own 
proper  person  its  adventurous  character  and  sounding 
quality. 

Come  all  you  bold  seamen  that  ploughs  the  rough  main, 

Give  ear  to  my  story,  the  truth  I'U  explain. 

There  was  a  misfortune  in  sad  time  of  war. 

And  how  we  escaped  from  the  French  at  Bastar. 


« 


Thx  Quxst  of  tbx  Ballad 

There  wen  leaincn  bdd,  three  hundred  and  more. 
Was  shut  up  in  prison  on  Guadeloupe  shore. 
TLey  were  chained  down  in  prison  and  sorely  oppresied. 
By  painful  diseases  and  famine  oppressed. 

There  was  a  hold  seaman,  from  St.  Lords  he  came, 
He  was  generous  in  action,  called  Digfaton  by  name. 
He  had  the  heart  of  a  lion,  the  soul  of  a  prince. 
Through  honour  and  friendship  to  us  did  advance. 

He  came  to  the  priscm  to  bemoan  our  sad  fate. 
He  launched  out  his  gold  to  relieve  our  sad  state. 
Five  hundred  guineas  he  paid  down,  and  more. 
Which  much  did  relieve  us  in  that  distressed  hour. 

At  this  generous  action  the  French  did  complain. 
It  was  then  they  bound  him  in  fetters  and  chains. 
They  threw  him  in  prison  with  us,  you  may  see. 
From  his  fetters  and  chains,  boys,  he  soon  set  us  free. 

"Come  all  you  bold  seamen,  if  you  take  my  advice. 
Stand  true  to  my  ^Ide,  it  is  done  in  a  trice. 
Down  in  yon  portway  the  Tiger  she  lays. 
She's  a  well-fc  «rv'    i    ,  ^ch  cruiser,  she's  fit  for  the 


"The  captain's  o^    \orQ  and  all  things  on  board. 
There's  plenty  of  camion,  pikes,  pistols,  and  swords. 
And  if  you  prove  valiant  and  stand  by  my  side. 
Never  fear  but  we'll  board  her  and  sail  the  next  tide." 

At  this  generous  action  we  all  did  agree 

To  break  out  of  prison  to  die  or  be  free. 

Two  gallant  yoimg  sailors  as  his  seconds  he  chose. 

And  a  signal  of  freedom  was,  "Death  to  the  foesl" 

7« 


RiMKs  OF  AN  Ancunt  Maunzb 

^en  out  of  the  French  prwon  we  aU  niihed  amain. 
Two  big  guns  was  fired,  the  French  guard  was  slain. 
And  down  to  the  Tiger  we  aU  took  our  way. 
We  slipped  both  her  cables,  and  steered  out  for  sea. 

^eir  forts  being  opened,  right  on  us  did  play. 
The  shot  flew  like  haU  as  we  got  under  wmy. 
They  battered  our  spars  as  we  sailed  from  the  shore. 
To  bid  them  a  good-night  a  broadside  did  pour. 

Then  early  next  morning  we  thought  ourselves  clear. 
But  for  our  mistake,  boys,  we  paid  very  dear. 
|Twas  early  next  morning  just  as  day  we  spied 
The  Lion  of  Pervert  bearing  down  alongside. 

She  supplied  us  with  broadsides,  which  grieved  our  hearts 
sore. 

Which  caused  the  bold  Tiger  to  make  her  guns  roar. 
With  twenty-six  eighteens  the  Lion  did  howl; 
With  eighteen  brass  fours  the  Tiger  did  growl. 

•Twas  yard-arm  and  broadside  together  did  lay 
ra  a  shot  from  the  Tiger  took  his  mizzen  away. 
Now  said  bold  Dighton,  "If  you're  tired  of  the  fun 
You  have  got  your  choice,  to  fight  or  to  run." 

To  shun  blood  and  shiughter  we  aU  did  incline. 
To  run  from  the  Lion  it  was  our  design. 
But  to  our  misfortune  and  our  sad  distress 
That  very  same  moment  they  grappled  us  fast 
They  tried  for  to  board  us  thrice  over  in  view. 
But  they  were  opposed  by  the  Tiger's  bold  cr^. 
They  trebled  our  metal  with  men  three  to  one 
But  Fortune  still  favoured  old  Britain's  bold  sons. 

78 


Thz  Quht  of  thb  Ballad 

Then  up  speaki  bold  DigtiUm,  like  a  hero  did  feel. 
His  eyes  glanced  like  fury,  like  the  bright  varnished  steeL 
"Come  each  of  you  seamen  on  the  point  of  your  sword. 
It's  death,  boys,  or  freedcm.    We'll  all  jump  on  board.** 

Then  over  the  bulwarks  we  crushed  on  our  foe. 
One  clip  from  his  sword  laid  the  French  captain  low. 
Then  down  on  the  decks,  boys,  their  weapons  let  fall. 
And  on  us  brave  heroes  for  mercy  did  call. 

Swords  rattled,  pikes,  pistols,  the  swords  loud  did  dadi. 
The  blood  on  our  decks  like  water  did  splash. 
The  huge  streams  of  crimson  from  our  scuppers  did  pour. 
And  the  blue  sea  around  us  ran  purple  with  gore. 

"It's  now,"  says  bold  Dighton,  "since  the  battle  is  o'er. 
Let  the  Frendi  learn  a  lesson,  go  teach  it  on  shore; 
Let  them  go  home  to  their  country,  and  tell  them  beware 
For  to  treat  well  in  future  the  prisoners  of  war." 

We  cleared  our  decks  that  very  same  day. 
The  wind  from  the  sou'west,  we  got  under  way. 
And  down  to  Antigua  away  then  we  bore. 
And  early  next  morning  we  all  went  on  shore. 

Here's  a  health  to  bold  Dighton,  a  true  valiant  friend. 
May  honour  protect  him,  and  glory  attend. 
And  when  he  is  dead  I  pray  you'll  draw  near. 
And  kneel  at  his  tombstone  and  let  fall  a  tear. 


When  Dick  had  concluded  his  sonorous  rendition  of 
this  ballad  I  was  moved  to  ask  him  the  idle  question,  "How 
do  you  suppose  this  song  came  to  be  written?  Did  some- 
one who  was  in  the  battle  make  up  v  song  about  it  after- 
wards?" 


74 


RlMSi  OF  AK  AVCISNT  MAKOtEM, 

"Oh.  good  fortuner  Cried  Dick  in  tnuMement.    "Them 
feUOTTB  could  never  write  poelry  like  thati    It  would  be 

l^rf  Bynm  or  Tom  Moore,  or  ioine  o' them  great  poett 
of  Kngltnd."  * 

In  ^ck'.  topography  of  hum.    jndeavor,  it  will  be 
■een.  aU  roads  lead  to  England,  and  in  his  more  recent 
conversations  with  me  his  theory  was  extended  with  ab- 
solute consistency  to  the  tragic  situation  in  wbch  Emr- 
tand  has  lately  been  playing  her  part.    Ever  whenlSB 
fortunes  of  the  Allies  were  at  their  lowest  ebb  Dick  would 
inquire  with  that  conviction  of  tone  which  made  his  ques- 
tions  more  conclusive  than  another  man's  assertions.  "Do 
ye  thmk  th^  can  ever  conquer  England,  the  home  of 
liberty  an  the  land  which  is  now  prosecutin'  the  glorious 
work  of  God?"   Then,  after  receiving  from  me  the  inevit- 
able  response,  he  would  bring  his  clenched  fist  upon  his 
knee  with  the  brave  chaUenge,  "Never  shall  it  be  said  that 
a  foreijpi  army  has  set  its  foot  upon  the  soil  of  Englandl" 
Nor  did  he  faU  to  evolve  an  explanation  of  the  fact  that 

*^  *"**  r"  "^^  *^^*  '*^^*  <»"*  «P«n  French  soil 
France,   he  asserted  one  evening,  "is  a  great  country  but 
a  wicked  one.    She  has  sinnrd  against  the  Lord  in  times 
past,  and  for  that  rea'^on  the  war  will  be  fought  an.      >- 
cided  within  her  gates     Ye'U  fW  it «    «  the  Bible.    The 
judge  that  sentenced  our  Saviour  tt     e's  death  was  Pon- 
tius Pilate,  wasn't  it?"    I  asseirted  u.  this  apparently  un- 
related premise.   "WeU,"  resumed  Bm,  "after  Pilate  had 
finished  the  business  an'  signed  the      ^uents  sentendn' 
our  Lord  to  the  cross  he  went  to  t        «   Missis  Pilate 
was  kym  there  beside  him,  an'  she  m      to  sleep  an'  had 
a  great  vision  of  what  was  to  come  to  ^.*«  in  the  future 
5»he  seen  that  our  Saviour  was  an  inaoc     t  man,  an'  that 

7« 


Tbx  Qvmn  ow  trs  Baum^ 

in  time  to  come  her  an*  PiUte  i>  uld  be  baniahed  to  Gau], 
•n'  that  the  great  war  of  the  natiom  would  U  fought 
where  her  and  her  wicked  husband  wai  to  end  their  livet. 
An'  so  it  ha*  come  to  paM.  The  country  of  Gaul  is  now 
the  country  of  France,  an*  the  great  war  for  righteousness 
•nd  truth  is  now  bein'  fought  on  that  ground  where  the 
murderer  of  our  Lord  ended  he's  days." 

Many  a  problem  raised  by  the  great  clash  of  the  nations 
was  worked  out  for  me  in  similar  fashion  by  Dick.  It 
was  very  hard,  indeed,  for  him  t  j  discourse  <m  any  other 
topic  after  the  summer  of  1914.  But  from  his  conscious- 
ness there  never  faded  the  kindly  realization  that  I  had 
a  greedy  ear  for  old  songs,  and  on  the  very  evening  when 
he  propounded  his  great  theory  of  Pikte  and  the  war  he 
brought  himself  up  presently  with  the  assurance  that  he 
had  been  thinking  over  some  fresh  songs  for  me  to  copy 
down.  "I  ben  tumin'  over  some  o'  the  old  shanties  in  me 
mind  the  last  day  or  two,"  he  announced.  "Here's  a 
mains'l  shanty  that  I  used  to  sing  for  the  men  when  we 
was  gittin'  squared  away  for  sea": 

One  evening  as  I  rambled  down  by  the  Clarence  dock, 

Heave  away,  my  Johnniet,  heave  axoay 
I  overheard  an  Irish  girl  conversing  with  Tap  Scott. 

And  away,  my  Johnny  boy»,  we're  aU  away  to  Ka 

She  says,  "Now  Mr.  Tap  Scott,  come  tell  -  .   if  you 

please," 
Heave  away,  my  Johnmee,  heave  aany 
"And  have  you  got  a  ship  of  fame  to  carry  me  over  the 

sea?" 

And  away,  my  Johnny  hoy»,Wi^reaa  aaay  to  ieu 

n 


if 


RiMlfc  or  AH  AncIXXT  MjkMntMM. 

"O  yet.  I  got  •  ihip  of  fame,  a  ship  that  does  weU  g«l," 
^eaw  fluwi,,  my  Jo*miie#,  heave  awat, 
She  •  lymg  in  the  Waterloo  dock  and  taking  in  the  mail" 
^nd  away,  my  Johnny  hoy*,  we're  att  away  to  ten 

"We  got  aJJ  things  now  ready,  tomorrow  she  will  saU," 
,^J^^*i^y*  my  Johnmet,  heave  away 

o7il"''*  ^"^^^  P«»engers  and  two  hundred  bag. 
^nd  -rcy.  my  Johnny  boye,  we're  aU  away  to  tea 

For  tv    fe^  day.  we  «iled  the  sea^  the  wind  it  prove  1 
iit»u'  true, 

H^orr  away,  my  Johnnie;  heave  away 
With  twenty-Mven  Milor  boys  our  pas^nger.  wcU  knew 

^nd  away,  my  Johnny  boye,  we're  aU  away  to  eea 
The  captain  being  an  Iridunan,  as  you  can  understand. 

Beave  away,  my  Johnmee,  heave  awau 
He  liumched  out  hi.  little  boat  on  the  baik.  of  Newfound- 

^^ '^^y,  my  Johnny  boys,  toe'reaU  away  to  sea 

O  ^  the  wind  began  to  blow,  it  blew  from  the  nor'wert. 
Beave  away,  my  Johnnies,  heave  awat, 


And  then  the  seas  began  to  si^eD,  and  we  could  -. 
oway,  my  Johnny  boys,  we're  aU  away  to 


A%d 


get  no  rert. 


sea 


Bad  luck  to  the  Jowph  Walker, 
■  away,  my  Johnnies, 


taU. 
Heave  i 


she  rolled  us  head  and 


heave 


away 


And  the  sailors  they  broke  open  the  chests  and 
yellow  mail. 
And  away,  my  Johnny  boys,  we're  aU 

77 


stc  "^  our 


away  to  sea 


i      ! 


■ 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

Well,  then  we  arrived  in  New  York  town,  the  place  I 

thought  so  sweet. 
Heave  away,  my  Johrmes,  heave  away 
The  very  first  place  I  found  myself  was  down  on  Water 

Street. 

And  away,  my  Johnny  boys,  we're  aU  away  to  tea 

Now  I'm  in  Jack  Montgomery's,  I'll  cock  my  yeUow  tail, 

Heave  away,  my  Johnnies,  heave  away 
So  farewell,  Mr.  Tap  Scott,  hkewise  your  yellow  mail. 

And  away,  my  Johnny  hoys,  voe're  aU  axoay  to  sea 

In  addition  to  the  shanties,  of  which  he  had  a  consider- 
able number,  Dick  had  gathered  during  his  years  before 
the  mast  a  large  and  miscellaneous  collection  of  sea-songs. 
Some  of  these  were  in  ballad  form,  as,  for  instance,  "The 
Old  Ramillies,"  a  harrowing  tale  of  how  the  stout  old 
ship  "from  her  anchor  cut  and  run"  during  a  fearful  storm, 
and  how  she  finaUy  went  down,  leaving  only  four  to  teU 
"How  she  behaved  in  the  gale."  Still  others  were  songs 
without  any  narrative,  complaints  of  the  hardships  at  sea 
mingled  with  praises  of  the  brave,  open,  roving  life  of  the 
sailor.  One  of  these,  which  in  the  absence  of  a  title  Dick 
suggested  should  be  caUed  "Jolly  Tars,"  runs  thus: 

Come  all  you  jovial  sailors  bold, 

The  truth  to  you  I  write 
Consaming  of  the  raging  sea 

Which  is  my  heart's  delight. 
While  the  landsmen  are  on  shore 

Little  danger  do  they  know, 
While  we  poor  jolly  sailors  bold 

Must  plough  the  ocean  through. 

78 


Rimes  of  an  Ancient  Mamneb 

They're  always  with  their  pretty  girls 

A-telling  them  fine  tales. 
Telling  them  of  the  hard  day's  work 

They  done  in  their  com  fields. 
It's  cutting  down  the  grass  and  weeds 

It  s  all  that  they  can  do, 
WhUe  we  poor  jolly  sailors  bold 

Must  plough  the  ocean  through. 
Soon  as  the  sun  it  does  go  down. 
They'll  throw  away  their  hoes. 
Saying,  "We  can  work  no  longer." 

And  homewards  they  will  go. 
As  soon  as  ever  it  gets  dark. 
It's  into  bed  they'll  crawl, 
^e  we  poor  jolly  saUors'bold 
Must  stand  the  bitter  squall. 

The  night  it  is  as  dark  as  pitch. 

And  the  wind  begins  to  blow, 
The  captain  comes  on  the  deck. 

Turn  out,  boys,  from  below. 
All  hands,  all  hands,  on  deck,  my  boys. 

And  pay  your  ship  regard. 
And  lay  aloft,  me  lively  lads. 

Send  down  the  gallant  yards. 

^^?  ^^  ^*o  «U  parts  of  the  world 

That  ever  yet  was  known. 
And  we'll  bring  home  aU  prizes 

From  where  we  do  return. 
We'll  spend  our  money  freely. 

And  go  to  sea  for  more. 
We'll  make  the  town  to  flourish 

When  we  return  to  shore. 
79 


Mi   t 


k  '■*' 


h 


m 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

In  this  group,  also,  might  be  included  "Frank  Fidd,"  a 
song  of  the  "Tom  Bowling"  type,  in  which  the  employ- 
ment of  an  abstruse  nautical  phraseology  denotes  a  fine 
disregard  of  the  landsman's  limitations: 

Frank  Fidd  was  as  gallant  a  tar 

As  ever  took  reef  in  a  sail. 
And  when  her  lee  gun'l  lay  under 

He  laughed  at  the  noise  of  the  gale. 

His  grog  he  provide  against  storm. 
While  spitting  the  juice  from  his  quid. 

Aloft,  on  the  yard,  or  on  deck. 
It  was  all  the  same  to  Frank  Fidd. 

One  night  off  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope, 

Head  winds,  our  ship  lyin'  to. 
The  bight  of  a  rope  catched  Frank's  heels. 

And  his  head  bulged  on  top  of  the  flue. 

The  doctor  he  sounded  his  brain 
While  the  blood  from  his  scuppers  run  fast. 

While  soundin*  Frank  cried,  "It's  in  vain. 
For  death  it  has  broached  me  at  last. 

"I'm  afraid  I'll  away  while  I  speak. 
Life's  capstan's  hove  taut  on  my  heart. 

My  anchor  is  now  short  apeak. 
Don't  you  think  I  have  acted  my  part? 

"I  never  feared  danger  or  toil 
Whilst  a  spark  of  life's  blood  was  on  deck. 

But  now  the  last  end  of  my  coil 
Is  hove  through  eternity's  block. 

80 


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L  •'^'■' 

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-f       •  *      A.    "            •  ' 

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m      \ 

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'■^. 

An   iiiterinittent   sailor   tind   iiian-ot'-Hll-wurk   and 
of  a  late  variety  of  sea-songs. 


boisterous   sinner 


RiMEB  OF  AN  Ancient  Mabineb 

"So,  shipmates,  no  longer  delay. 
Since  life's  but  a  span  at  the  best. 

And  since  I  can  cheer  you  no  longer 
I'll  mount  o'er  the  truck  of  the  blest. 

"Safe  moored  in  Felicity  Bay, 
I'll  ride  by  the  Cape  of  Delight. 

What  more  can  they  say  of  poor  Frank  ? 
He's  gone  up  aloft  in  a  flight" 

Though  Dick  was  the  most  important  personage  with 
whom  I  kbored  in  the  ballad-fieid  during  the  second  sum- 
mer of  ay  coUectorship,  he  was  by  no  means  the  only  one. 
From  time  to  time  I  interviewed  many  people  whom  I 
suspected  of  having  concealed  baUads  about  their  persons, 
and  m  some  cases  I  was  .ble  to  cajole  them  into  admit- 
tmg  that  they  could  "start  one  or  two  songs."  But  as  I 
have  pretty  consistently  given  the  impression  up  to  this 
pomt  that  my  labors  were  merely  a  round  of  social  ameni- 
ties, I  must  new,  in  support  of  the  text  which  I  proposed 
in  an  earlier  chapter,  present  some  evidence  to  show  that 
the  way  of  baUad  collectors  is  hard.  For  this  purpose  I 
may  employ  the  simple  expedient  of  narrating  my  second 
visit  to  old  Bob  Langille. 

During  my  first  visit,  it  wiU  be  remembered,  a  state  of 
idyllic  peace  and  harmony  had  been  established  between 
the  LangiUe  family  and  their  visitor.  When  I  had  made 
my  farewells  the  two  old  sisters  had  patted  my  arm  and 
assured  me  thaf  I  was  just  like  one  of  themselves,  while 
Bob,  sending  u  auds  of  smoke  from  the  tobacco  which 
we  had  shared  u^c  brothers,  had  stoutly  and  defiantly  af- 
firmed that  I  was  a  gentleman  and  a  man  among  men 
But  now  mark  what  happened  a  year  later  when  I  con- 
si 


H 


i 


The  Qubst  of  the  Ballad 

veyed  my  wife  to  the  Langille  home  to  procure  some  of 
the  ballads  which  it  had  been  impossible  for  me  to  copy 
down  on  my  former  visit. 

My  wife  remained  outside  in  the  carriage  while  I  went 
romid  to  the  rear  of  the  house  in  the  expectation  of  find- 
ing Bob  and  reanimating  the  friendship  of  the  previous 
year.  I  found  Bob,  but  at  that  point  my  program  was 
interrupted. 

He  was  sitting  on  a  log,  with  shoulders  bowed,  gaze 
directed  earthward,  and  a  total  attitude  of  uncompromis- 
ing dejection,  while  with  his  big  clasp-knife  he  whittled 
slices  from  the  side  of  a  half -ripe  apple  and  conveyed  them 
to  his  mouth,  from  time  to  time,  in  a  manner  denoting  a 
bitter  lack  of  harmony  with  the  world.  He  did  not  look 
up  when  I  greeted  him,  and,  as  it  was  quite  evident  that 
he  did  not  recognize  my  voice,  I  sat  duwn  on  the  ground, 
propped  my  back  against  the  log,  and  pn^ceeded  to  whit- 
tle a  piece  of  wood  in  default  of  a  half -ripe  apple.  The 
first  part  of  the  interview  was  mostly  monologue  on  my 
part,  but  finaUy  Bob  was  moved  to  state  that  the  crops 
were  bad,  the  weather  damnable,  and  he  himself  on  th< 
high  road  to  the  graveyard. 

"I  suppose  you  don't  remember  me,"  I  hinted  respect- 
fully at  last. 

"No,"  said  Bob  in  a  tone  of  discontec.!;ed  conviction. 

"You  £ing  some  songs  for  me  last  summer,"  I  sug- 
gested, in  the  vain  hope  that  this  might  be  the  link  that 
would  fasten  us  in  the  bonds  of  amity  again. 

He  peered  over  at  me  suspiciously  with  his  dim  old 
eyes.  "I  don't  sing  no  songs,"  he  asserted,  with  more  ve- 
hemence than  he  had  hitherto  displayed.  "It's  time  for  me 
to  be  thinkin'  o*  me  Bible,  an'  not  about  singin'  songs." 

8S 


Rimes  of  an  Ancient  Masines 

I  dropped  the  subject  and  accompanied  him  again  to 
the  more  congenial  topics  of  natural  perversity,  bodily 
illness,  and  the  graveyard. 

During  a  lull  in  the  sombre  dialogue  I  essayed  to  whistle 
a  bar  or  two  from  one  of  the  songs  which  Bob  had  refused 
to  admit  that  he  had  sung  for  me  a  year  before.    Then  I 
began  boldly  to  sing  the  song,  but  had  not  proceeded  far 
when  I  had  to  pause  for  lack  of  the  right  words.    This 
was  more  than  Bob  could  endure.    With  a  sudden  roar 
he  took  up  the  song  at  the  point  where  I  had  faltered,  and 
carried  it  through  to  a  victorious  conclusion.    Then  there 
was  another  song  the  tune  of  which  I  felt  extremely  un- 
certain about.    Bob,  now  in  a  frenzy  of  zeal,  set  me  right 
immediately     Then,  as  in  former  days,  we  filled  our  pipes 
from  a  common  pouch,  lighted  them  with  a  con^aion  match, 
and  agreed  on  the  superiority  of  aU  things  that  are  ancient 
and  British.    In  due  time  I  led  my  horse  into    h-  back 
yard  and  introduced  my  wife;  and  Bob,  loudly  proclaim- 
ing that  he  would  be  our  servant  in  aU  matters  relating 
to  song,  led  us  indoors  to  the  day's  work. 

BaUad-singers,  without  doubt,  are  uncertain,  coy,  and 
hard  to  please.  The  only  complete  exception  to  this  rule 
that  I  have  ever  encountered  was  Dick  Hinds  the  sailor, 
and  he  was  an  exception  to  aU  rules.  It  was  not  only  his 
unvarying  cordiality  and  his  rich  and  florid  eloquence  that 
distinguished  him  from  the  throng  of  artisans  who  com- 
posed the  conventional  body  of  his  peers.  His  unauthor- 
ized conclusion  regarding  the  shape  of  the  earth  was  mere- 
ly one  expression  of  the  sturdy  inteUectual  independence 
which  imposed  upon  him,  as  it  does  upon  aU  powerful  in- 
dividualities, a  comparative  loneliness  in  the  midst  of  a 
complaisant  society.    His  premises,  to  be  sure,  were  not 

88 


mM 


it » 


B 


The  Quist  of  the  Ballad 

always  complete  or  unimpeachable,  but  his  ccmdusioiu 
were  rigorous  and  consistent,  and  they  were  dignified  by 
a  passionate  loyalty  and  an  unfailing  moral  and  physical 
courage.  The  foregoing  chapter  was  written  less  than  a 
year  ago,  and  the  present  tense  which  I  could  then  employ 
in  my  references  to  him  I  have  since  had  to  change  to  the 
past.  In  adding  this  concluding  paragraph,  therefore,  I 
am  composing  a  brief  necrology  for  my  brave  old  friend, 
but  I  should  do  much  better  to  refer  the  reader  to  a  set  of 
verses  which  have  taken  on  for  me  the  significance  of  a 
memorial — the  coc  eluding  verses  of  the  song  of  Frank 
Fidd. 


84 


mm 


CHAPTER  SIX 

Genuine  Antiquss 

It  would  be  very  easy  and  pleasant  for  me  to  ramble 
•long  with  a  chronological  account  of  my  adventures  and 
of  the  various  singers  whom  I  have  met  from  time  to  time, 
but  I  think  that  my  subject  will  be  better  served  if  I  pro- 
ceed now  towards  something  more  in  the  nature  of  topical 
discussions.    My  work  itself  progressed  in  very  intermit- 
teat  fashion  with  the  chnmological  order  of  the  recurring 
summers,  but  I  gradually  became  a  more  expert  and  sea- 
soned fisher  of  ballads.    Sometimes,  like  better  men  be- 
fore me,  I  toiled  al'  night  and  caught  nothing;  at  other 
times  there  came  to  my  net  divers  little  fishes  in  the  shape 
of  murder  baUads,  ghost  ballads,  and  other  classifiable  or 
nondescript  specimens  of  small  fry;  and  on  rar«  occasions 
there  would  swim  int'.  my  ken— if  I  may  now  twist  my 
figure  somewhat  violently  to  meet  the  needs  of  my  great 
argument— a  new  planet  in  the  form  of  a  genuine  English 
or  Scottish  popular  ballad.   I  shall  now  briefly  discuss  the 
specimens  of  the  last-named  sort  which  I  have  gathered  in 
at  one  time  or  another. 

As  the  shade  of  Julius  Caesar  broods  over  the  action  of 
Shakespeare's  historical  tragedy,  so  does  the  shade  of  Lit- 
tle Ned  Langille  brood  over  the  activities  of  this  humbler 
chronicle.  It  was  my  recollection  of  Little  Ned's  antique 
devices  for  entertaining  his  friends  that  first  started 
toe  on  the  paths  of  collectorship,  and  there  are  few  of 
my  experiences  upon  these  paths  that  do  not  in  some 

85 


ii 


Ths  Qukst  or  thx  Ballad 

way  call  up  the  memory  of  this  stout  oM  patron  of  the 
waning  customs  of  an  elder  day.  Year  after  year  I  have 
made  it  my  special  mission  to  track  down  the  ballads 
which  I  remember  by  name  or  by  descriptitm  from  his 
singing,  and  ^irnes  have  been  when  the  guardian  shade 
has  presided  over  the  cloi.^  of  a  successful  day,  as  will 
presently  appear. 

In  an  earlier  chapter  I  explained  that  my  first  e£Fort  to 
fill  the  gap  caused  by  Ned's  death  took  the  form  of  a  visit 
to  Ned's  sister.  Susan  had  admitted  that  "Ned  might 
'a'  ben  able  to  sing  a  few  songs,"  and  had  further  avowed 
that  her  father  when  in  the  prime  of  his  powers  could  sing 
more  songs  than  there  were  days  in  the  year;  but  when  I 
had  inquired  whether  anyone  was  living  in  the  neighbor- 
hood who  might  have  inherited  a  few  out  of  so  vast  a  num- 
ber she  had  defiantly  asserted  that  there  was  not  a  single 
person  then  above  ground  who  could  sing  one  of  than. 
In  the  li^t  of  facts  more  recently  acquired  I  am  now 
able  to  state  that  there  was  then  living,  within  a  mile  of 
Susan's  home,  a  younger  brother  of  this  same  father  who 
could  sing  all  day  without  repeating  himself.  This  brother, 
Creorge  Langille  by  name,  was  of  course  an  almost  in- 
credibly old  person,  as  may  be  judged  by  the  fact  that  he 
was  the  uncle  of  Little  Ned,  who  had  not  died  until  he 
was  well  stricken  in  years.  Grcorge  was,  in  fact,  ninety- 
three  years  old  at  the  time;  but  in  his  day  he  had  also 
been  a  singer,  and  some  prowess  in  song  he  retained  to 
the  end,  concealing  it  jealously  from  everybody  but  his 
daughter,  with  whom  he  spent  his  last  days. 

These  facts,  however,  were  learned  by  me  after  Greorge 
had  been  gathered  to  his  fathers.  The  tragedy  of  it  is 
that  I  did  not  learn  them  from  his  niece  while  he  was 

86 


\li> 


GswuDTX  AimQuii 

yet  in  the  flesh.  But  to  indulge  oneielf  in  murderous  de- 
sires with  poor  Susan  as  tiie  object  would  be  entirely  be- 
side the  point.  She  simply  had  not  been  taken  into  the 
confidence  of  old  George  and  his  daughter,  who  in  some 
way  had  learned  that  in  these  degenerate  days  the  ability 
to  sing  old-fashioned  songs  was  more  likely  to  be  regarded 
with  merriment  than  with  envy,  and  who,  like  many  others 
who  were  once  sweet  singers  in  Israel,  had  found  that  it 
better  consorted  with  their  dignity  to  hiig  their  harps 
upon  the  willows  while  in  exile  by  the  streams  of  Bahvlom. 
When  these  mournful  truths  were  brought  homt  e 

they   were   accompanied   by   one   suggestion   of 
George's  daughter,  Easter  Ann  by  name— or  at  k 
the  popular  rendition  of  her  name— still  remained'        ^m 
ground.    To  her,  accordingly,  I  prepared  to  resor 
since  my  mind  was  clouded  with  a  dmibt  of  my  ab 
awaken  candor  in  her  breast,  I  proceeded,  acting 
an  accession  of  undeniable  wisdcnn,  to  enlist  the  ser 
a  doctor  who  had  frequently  repaired  the  body 
George  while  it  was  still  animated  by  the  spirit,      ieeom- 
panied  by  this  important  ally  I  proceeded  with  a  «lottt 
heart  to  the  humble  cottage  of  Easter  Ann. 

We  were  received  with  the  respect  due  to  atlci  x. 
with  white  collars  on,  especially  as  one  of  the  collars  t^ 
circled  the  neck  of  a  doctor.  After  a  fitting  conversatim 
on  the  unusual  prevalence  of  illness  in  the  countryside  ai. 
the  constant  imminence  of  death,  Easter  Ann  was  adked 
with  much  circumlocution  and  many  assays  of  bias  if  he 
father  had  not  been  a  great  singer  in  his  day.  She  admit- 
ted that  he  had  been,  and  further  asserted  that  she  saw 
no  great  harm  in  singin'  old  songs  if  ye  liked  them,  even 
if  everybody  did  look  down  on  ye  for  doin*  it.    My  friend 

87 


to 
tpon 
sof 


I 


H 


'  I 


Thx  Qusnr  of  thx  Ballad 

and  I,  however,  h«d  luccessfully  driven  home  an  impret- 
non  of  our  catholicity  of  taite,  for  presently  she  infonned 
me,  in  rather  doubtful  compensation  for  the  Iom  of  her 
father,  "He  wouldn't  'a'  minded  lingin'  for  you  and  the 
doctor,  though." 

It  was  at  length  suggested  that  Easter  Ann,  having 
heard  her  father  sing  so  often,  might  hy  chance  remember 
a  few  of  the  songs  herself.  Well,  she  admitted  cautiously, 
she  might  be  able  to  mind  of  one  o'  iHem,  but  she  had  a 
veiy  bad  heart,  <d  it  would  be  a  good  deal  better  for  all 
concerned  if  the  doctor  would  examine  that  defective  or- 
gan instead  of  settin'  back  and  coaxin'  her  to  sing  foolish 
old  songs.  The  doctor  assured  her  that  the  rebellious 
heari;  would  be  looked  into  as  soon  as  the  iwng  was  finished, 
and  finally  she  composed  her  elbows  on  the  table,  set  her 
face  resolutely  to  the  front,  closed  her  eyes,  and  began: 

'Twas  on  a  day,  a  high  holiday. 

The  best  day  of  the  old  year. 
When  little  Matha  Grove  he  wait  to  church 

The  holy  word  to  hear. 

The  holy  word  to  hear. 

Some  came  in  in  diamonds  of  gold. 

And  some  came  in  in  pearls. 
And  among  them  all  was  little  Matha  Grove 

The  handsomest  of  them  all. 

The  handsomest  of  them  all. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  a  rather  mangled  version  of 
the  superb  oW  ballad  "Little  Musgrave,"  or  "Little  Matha 
Grove,"  as  it  had  come  to  be  during  the  process  of  oral 
transmission  and  oral  transmutation.    I  shall  come  back 

88 


Gufuixs  Amtiquxs 

to  thii  balkd  presently,  but  for  the  moment  I  muft  keep 
my  attention  courteoualy  fixed  upon  Easter  Ann. 

When  the  performance  was  ended  the  heart  was  ex- 
amined and  found  to  be  as  sound  as  a  dollar.  In  honor  of 
this  sudden  restoration  to  health  Easter  Ann  then  pro- 
clamied  that  s.ie  might  be  able  to  mind  of  a  few  variet 
from  another  old  song.  " 'Pretty  PoUy/ 1  sometimes  calls 
It,  she  explamed.  We  opposed  no  obstacle  to  this  sec- 
ond  performance,  and  she  proceeded  with  an  equally 
mangled  but  ahnost  equally  valuable  version  of  the  old 
ballad  "Lady  Isabel  and  the  Elf  Knight": 

There  was  a  lord  ir  '       ^town, 
He  courted  a  la^     ^«y. 

And  aU  that  he  wai.    J  of  this  pretty  maid 
Was  to  take  her  life  away. 

"Did  you  say  that 'Pretty  Polly*  was  the  name  of  the 
song?     I  mquired  when  the  last  stanza  was  completed. 

Wo,  aswrted  Easter  Ann  with  sturdy  finality,  and 
with  the  evident  suspicion  that  even  I,  with  aU  my  gentle 
ways,  might  be  tempted  to  poke  fun  if  I  were  giv«i  too 
obvious  a  chance. 

;;WeU.''  I  insisted,  "wasn't  it  ever  called  by  any  name?" 

None  thnt  I  ever  heerd  tell  of."  she  answered,  in  a  tone 

which  unphed  that  a  profitless  discussion  had  gone  far 

enough,    but  you've  got  plenty  of  lamin'.    Make  up  a 

name  for  it  to  suit  yourself." 

'Diis  WW  Easter  Ann's  constant  recipe  for  repairinir 
broken  or  disjomted  baUads.  When  she  bungled  a  stana 
or  forgot  a  line  her  refuge  always  was,  "But  you  can  fix 
that  up  to  suit  yourself."    t^s  view  of  the  question,  I 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

may  say,  she  held  in  common  with  the  great  majority  of 
the  ballad-singers  with  whom  I  have  toiled,  and  the  curi- 
ous thing  is  that  not  a  single  one  of  these  people  has  ever 
shown  the  least  disposition  to  attempt  the  patching-up 
process  for  himself.  If  a  line  were  missing  or  a  phrase 
unintelligible  that  was  none  of  their  affair.  They  simply 
sang  the  ballads — or  supposed  that  they  sang  them— ex- 
actly as  they  had  heard  them  delivered  by  some  old  and 
authoritative  singer,  and  they  were  willing  to  leave  the 
rest  to  me  because  of  their  confidence  in  my  superior  schol- 
arship. I  hasten  to  assure  my  readers  that  I  have  always 
been  at  one  with  the  singers  in  my  respect  for  the  author- 
ity of  tradition,  and  have  made  no  efforts  to  taint  the  in- 
tegrity of  the  oral  version  as  I  have  received  it. 

The  two  ballads  which  had  so  happily  clung,  battered 
and  bruised  as  they  were,  to  the  memory  of  Easter 
Ann  had  been  preserved  in  an  interesting  and  rather  curi- 
ous way.  Old  George,  as  his  daughter  repeatedly  assured 
us,  had  been  "a  proud  man,"  and  this  was  one  reason  why 
he  had  never  chosen  to  sing  his  songs  promiscuously  or  to 
a  potentially  critical  audience.  But  it  is  in  matters  of 
personal  appearance  that  Pride  does  chiefly  operate,  and 
thereby  hangs  the  tale.  George  when  in  the  prime  of  life 
had  been  adorned  and  beautified  by  a  fine  thatch  of  coal- 
black  hair,  and  as  he  proceeded  through  the  years  he  re- 
garded with  increasing  indignation  the  encroachment  of 
the  inevitable  white  threads.  At  regular  intervals,  then, 
he  would  summon  his  daughter  to  stand  behind  his  chair 
and  pluck  out  these  pallid  intruders,  while  in  payment  for 
the  service  he  would  sing  these  her  two  favorite  old  songs. 
The  white  hairs  reappeared  and  the  songs  were  repeated 
until,  without  any  effort  to  acquire  them  for  her  own  use, 

M 


Genuine  Antiqxtes 

the  daughter  had  unconsciously  come  to  the  point  where 
ahe  could  sing  them  herself. 

I  must  now  bid  farewell  to  Easter  Ann.    But  before 
doing  so  I  should  record  a  brief  conversation  which  she 
held  with  me  at  a  later  date,  and  which,  like  all  the  con- 
versations which  I  record,  seems  to  me  to  have  its  value 
as  a  simple  and  illuminating  commentary  on  the  present 
status  of  the  popular  ballad.    One  day  as  I  was  driving 
past  her  house  she  came  out  with  an  admonitory  hand  up- 
raised and  implored  me  not  to  tell  anybody  that  she  had 
been  singing  crazy  old  songs  for  me.    One  of  the  nei^- 
bors,  she  stated,  had  approached  the  house  on  the  day  of 
my  first  visit,  but,  on  hearing  the  barbaric  strains  within, 
had  discreetly  retired,  reserving  it  for  the  foDowing  day 
to  return  and  teU  poor  Easter  Ann  that  she  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  herself.    "I  s'pose  I  oughtn't  to  sing  songs 
like  that,"  she  concluded,  "and  me  a  member  o'  the  church." 
The  two  ballads  given  by  Easter  Ann  were,  as  I  have 
said,  notebly  imperfect,  and  I  immediately  cast  about  for 
opportunities  to  revise  them  in  the  light  of  popular  tradi- 
tion.   By  means  of  a  series  of  investigations  which  need 
not  be  explained  here  I  finally  unearthed  (in  the  figurative 
sense)  one  Mrs.  James  Gammell,  who  was  reported  as 
having  once  been  in  the  habit  of  singing  "Little  Hatha 
Grove."   Mrs.  Gammell  acknowledged,  when  pressed,  that 
she  had  known  the  song  years  ago  when  she  was  a  girl. 
After  her  marriage  her  husband,  who  had  seen  something 
of  the  world,  had  taken  serious  oflFense  with  her  for  singing 
"rowdy  songs."  and  had  finally  induced  her  to  renounce 
her  degrading  associations  with  the  popular  ballad.     I 
stimulated  her  memory  by  repeating  the  version  of  "Little 
Matha  Grove"  which  I  had  obtained  from  Easter  Ann, 

01 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 
and  since  her  husband  was  dead  and  consequentiy  in  no 
position  to  impress  the  demands  of  respectabihty  upon  his 
wife,  she  was  able  to  supply  some  few  stanzas  which  had 
been  omitted  from  the  first  version. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  state  that,  warned  by  hard  ex- 
periences, I  now  took  the  precaution  of  interviewing  all 
those  scions  of  the  LangiUe  family  who  might  be  laid  un- 
der  the  least  suspicion  of  familiarity  with  a  popular  baUad. 
Among  these  I  found  three  who  were  able  to  make  slight 
contributions  to  the  increasing  bulk  of  "Little  Hatha 
Grove."  The  final  result  was  the  composite  version  which 
I  presented  at  the  close  of  my  first  chapter. 

I  had  an  equal  amount  of  success  with  the  ballad  which 
smce  I  have  been  given  permission  to  call  it  what  I  please! 
I  shall  for  the  sake  of  convenience  call  "Pretty  Polly  " 
Among  the  relatives  of  Easter  Ann  with  whom  I  reviewed 
the  situation  was  a  certain  John  Langille,  an  intermittent 
sailor  and  man-of-aU-work  and  a  boisterous  singer  of  a 
late  vanety  of  sea-songs.    John  was  not  merely  a  relative 
of  Easter  Ann.    He  had  the  much  larger  distinction  of 
bemg  a  nephew  of  Little  Ned.  in  the  light  of  whose  counte- 
nance he  had  basked  times  without  number.    But  with  the 
blindness  of  a  younger  generation  he  had  failed  to  per- 
ceive  the  rare  qualities  of  his  uncle's  finest  baUads,  con- 
sidering them  as  curious  trifles  rather  than  as  songs  worthy 
of  being  committed  to  memory  for  actual  use.    He  could 
supply  only  a  line  or  two  of  "Little  Hatha  Grove";  but 
when  we  came  to  "Pretty  Polly,"  he  amiomiced  that  he 
used  to  roar  this  one  a  little"  himself-"though,"  he  ad- 

t^tJ^m  "T^'  *^°"*f*'*  ^*  ^**  "»«h  «f  »  song,  either." 
While  the  ballad-collector  is  pursuing  his  work  he  must 
on  no  account  allow  himself  to  attempt  measures  of  re- 

92 


^li 


Genuine  Antiques 

form,— in  baUad  singing  or  in  anything  else.  His  success 
will  depend  largely  on  his  ability  to  regard  every  man's 
private  opinions  as  his  own  sacred  property.  On  the  pres- 
ent occasion  I  made  no  attempt  to  convert  John  to  the 
truth,  but  simply  repeated  Easter  Ann's  version  to  him 
and  then  allowed  him  to  "roar  it  a  little"  himself,  whUe  I 
copied  down  several  stanzas  that  were  in  much  better  con- 
dition than  the  ones  I  had  already  procured. 

A  composite  version  of  this  baUad  I  shaU  now  present. 
The  only  additions  which  I  made  after  my  interview  with 
John  were  variant  versions  of  two  stanzas,  supplied  by  an 
old  neighbor  of  Little  Ned's  named  David  Rogers,  whom 
I  discovered  in  a  town  about  twenty  miles  away.  David's 
recollections  of  the  ballad  were  slim,  as  the  paucity  of  his 
contribution  will  indicate,  but  he  made  up  in  part  for  this 
by  an  earnest  assurance  that  whatever  he  supplied  was 
sure  to  be  right.  In  its  finished  form,*  then,  the  ballad 
runs  thus: 

There  was  a  lord  in  Ambertown, 
He  courted  a  lady  gay. 

And  all  he  wanted  of  this  pretty  maid 
Was  to  take  her  life  away. 

"Go  get  me  some  of  your  father's  gold. 

And  some  of  your  mother's  fee. 
And  two  of  the  best  nags  out  of  the  stable. 

Where  there  stands  thirty  and  three." 
She  went  and  got  some  of  her  father's  gold. 

And  some  of  her  mother's  fee. 
And  two  of  the  best  nags  out  of  the  stable. 

Where  there  stood  thirty  and  three. 

belt^l^^f ,!^'  ^^^^  'i!ll'  V'  """f*:  *■*  '""**  »'  •  coinbln.«on  of  th« 
«!«.»f  .1.  ju  *h«dlffer«t  incomplete  versions  that  I  found,  and  the 

variant  stansas  I  have  simply  had  to  omit 

9S 


M 


V 

I' 
\ 


rii. 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

She  mounted  on  the  milk-white  steed. 

And  he  on  the  rambling  gray. 
And  they  rode  till  they  came  to  the  salt  seaside. 

Three  hours  before  it  was  day. 

"Light  off,  light  off,  thy  milk-white  steed. 

And  deliver  it  unto  me. 
For  six  pretty  maids  I  have  drownded  here. 

And  the  seventh  one  thou  shalt  be. 

"Take  off,  take  off,  thy  silken  dress. 

Likewise  thy  golden  stays. 
Methinks  they  are  too  rich  and  too  gay 

To  rot  in  the  salt,  salt  sea." 

"Tf  I  must  take  off  my  silkoi  dress, 

Likewise  my  golden  stays. 
You  must  turn  your  back  around  to  me. 

And  face  yon  willow-tree." 

He  turned  his  back  around  about 

To  face  yon  willow-tree. 
She  grasped  him  by  the  middle  so  tight. 

And  she  tumbled  him  in  the  sea. 

"Lie  there,  lie  there,  you  false-hearted  man  I 

Lie  there  instead  of  mel 
For  six  pretty  maids  thou  hast  drownded  here. 

Go  keep  them  company." 

So  he  rollM  high  and  he  rolled  low. 

Till  he  rollM  to  the  sea-side. 
"Stretch  forth  your  hand,  my  pretty  Polly, 

And  I'll  make  you  my  bride." 


III 


Genuine  Antiques 

"Ije  there,  lie  there,  you  false-hearted  manl 

Lie  there  instead  of  me  I 
For  six  pretty  maids  thou  hast  drownded  here. 

But  the  seventh  hath  drownded  thee." 

She  mounted  on  her  milk-white  steed. 

And  she  led  her  rambling  gray, 
And  she  rode  forward  to  her  father's  door 

An  hour  before  it  was  day. 

The  parrot  being  up  so  early  in  the  mom, 

It  unto  PoUy  did  say, 
"I  was  afraid  that  some  ruffian 

Had  led  you  astray." 

The  old  man  on  his  piUow  did  lie. 

He  unto  the  parrot  did  say, 
"What  ails  you,  what  ails  you,  you  pretty 
Poll  parrot. 

You  prattle  so  long  before  day?" 
"The  old  cat  was  at  my  cage  door. 

And  I  was  afraid  he  was  going  to  eat  me. 
And  I  was  calling  for  pretty  PoUy 

To  go  drive  the  old  cat  away." 

"Well  turned,  well  turned,  my  pretty  Poll 
parrotl 

Well  turned,  well  turned!"  said  she. 
"Your  cage  it  shaU  be  of  the  glittering  gold. 

And  the  doors  of  ivory. 

"No  tales,  no  tales,  my  pretty  Poll  parrot. 

No  tales  you  will  tell  on  me. 
Your  cage  it  shall  be  of  the  glittering  gold. 

And  hung  on  yon  willow-tree." 


msssSSBIb::^ 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

A  few  lines  back  I  explained  that,  in  my  efforts  to  sup- 
plement  the  contributions  made  by  Easter  Ann,  I  inter- 
viewed all  suspected  members  of  the  Langille  family. 
Among  these  was  a  Mrs.  Jake  Langille,  wife  of  a  very 
friendly  and  mild-mannered  fanner  known  as  Devil  Jake 
or  Jake  the  Bear,  in  allusion  to  his  ferocious  appearance. 
Mrs.  Jake  was  a  grandniece  of  little  Ned's  father,  and. 
furthermore,  she  had  had  the  rare  privilege  of  being  reared 
in  the  presence  of  that  great  and  inexhaustible  fountain- 
head  of  ballads.    The  women-folks  in  this  household  had, 
as  we  may  easUy  understand,  been  expected  to  adopt  the 
role  of  listeners  rather  than  of  entertainers,  in  matters 
both  of  conversation  and  of  song;  but  Mrs.  Jake— or 
Lucy,  as  she  was  then— was  inordinately  fond  of  music, 
and  she  had  contrived  to  pick  up  a  few  scraps  of  song  as 
they  were  dropped  by  the  lords  of  creation. 

When  the  doctor  and  I  made  overtures  to  Lucy  she  be- 
came extremely  nervous,  and  begged  us  piteously  not  to 
ask  her  to  sing.  She  promised,  however,  to  dictate  a  song 
to  her  daughter,  who  "was  in  the  fifth  grade  at  school  and 
could  write  as  weU  as  the  next  one";  but  we  would  have 
to  give  her  a  few  days  to  get  over  the  fright  we  had  given 
her  and  to  "study  up"  the  song,  which  she  had  not  thought 
of  for  years. 

The  promised  ballad  was  duly  received  by  me  in  the 
course  of  the  week.  In  its  manuscript  form,  however,  it 
left  much  to  be  desired;  consequently  the  doctor  and  I 
called  upon  Lucy  once  more,  and  by  our  friendly  and  in- 
gratiating conversation  wrought  her  up  to  such  a  pitch 
of  boldness  that  she  finally  sang  the  ballad  in  our  pres- 
ence, just  as  though  we  had  been  mere  women  like  herself. 


96 


Genuine  Antiques 

It  was  "Lord  Thomas  and  Fair  Elinor,"  a  very  tolerable 
version  of  the  noble  old  ballad: 

Lord  Thomas  he  was  a  worthy  man. 

He  wore  a  sword  by  his  side. 
Fair  Ellincr  was  a  beautiful  bride. 

Lord  Thomas  he  loved  her  full  well. 

"Come  riddle,  come  riddle,  dear  Mother,** 
he  says, 

"Come  riddle  us  all  in  one, 
Whether  I'll  marry  fair  EUinor 

Or  bring  the  brown  girl  at  home.*' 

"The  brown  girl  she's  got  house  and  land. 

Fair  EUinor  has  got  none. 
My  son,  if  you  will  take  my  blessing, 

O  bring  the  brown  girl  at  home." 

Lord  Thomas  he  was  a  worthy  man, 

He  wore  a  sword  by  his  side. 
Fair  EUinor  was  a  beautiful  bride. 

Lord  Thomas  he  loved  her  fuU  welL 

When  he  came  to  fair  Ellinor's  door 

He  knocked  so  loud  at  the  ring. 
There  was  none  so  ready  as  fair  EUinor 

To  rise  and  let  him  in. 

"What  news,  what  news.  Lord  ThtMuas?" 
she  said. 

What  news  do  you  bring  to  me?" 
"I  come  to  invite  you  to  my  wedding. 

It  is  bad  news  for  thee." 

97 


I 


M 


f  =( 


i': 

If 


n 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

"The  Lord  forbid.  Lord  Thomas,"  she  said, 

"If  any  such  things  should  be. 
I'm  in  hopes  myself  to  be  the  bride. 

And  you  to  be  the  bride's  groom." 

"Come  riddle,  come  riddle,  dear  Mother," 
she  said, 

"Come  riddle  us  aU  in  one. 
Whether  I'll  go  to  Lord  Thomas'  wedding 

Or  wiU  I  stay  at  home?" 

"Many  a  one  has  been  your  friend. 

Many  more  has  been  your  foes. 
My  girl,  if  you  will  take  my  blessing, 

To  Lord  Thomas'  wedding  don't  go." 
"Betray  my  life,  betray  my  death. 

To  Lord  Thomas  I'U  go." 

She  dressed  herself  in  riches  so  gay. 

Her  merry  maids  all  in  blue. 
And  every  gate  that  she  passed  by 

They  took  her  to  be  some  queen.* 

When  slie  came  to  Lord  Thomas'  door 

She  knocked  so  loud  at  the  ring. 
There  was  none  so  ready  as  Lord  Thomas 

To  rise  and  let  her  In. 

He  took  her  by  the  lily-white  hand 

And  led  her  through  the  hall. 
He  set  her  on  a  golden  chair 

Among  the  ladies  all. 

*  It  will  be  obTious  to  anybody  acquainted  with  the  old  ballsd,  or  with  an 
ear  for  rhyme,  that  the  desirable  word  for  the  rhyme  ia  "green"  aad  not 
"biue."  I  aiked  L«cy  if  she  had  never  heard  the  word  "green"  here^  whicL  she 
denied,  bnt  later,  when  I  persuaded  her  to  sing  the  ballad  a  second  time  she. 
apparenUy  nnomsciottsly,  substituted  "green."  However,  since  I  had  a  hand  in 
bringing  about  the  change  I  have  not  introduced  it  in  the  version  that  I  present. 

98 


"!•  thii  your  bride,  Lord  ThoniMr  the  iaicl 
"I  think  the  looks  wonderful  black. 

Ton  migbt  hxn  had  as  fair  •  one 
Aa  ever  the  sun  rose  on.** 

••Despise  her  not,  fair  Ellinor,**  he  said, 

"Despise  her  not  to  me. 
For  better  do  I  like  your  little  finger 

Than  all  her  whole  bo^y." 

The  brown  girl  she  being  standing  by 

T7ith  a  pen-knife  in  her  hand. 
Betwixt  the  long  rib  and  the  short 

Pierced  fair  EUinor  to  the  heart 


Lord  Thomas  he 


**0  what  is  the  matterf' 
said, 

"I  think  you  look  wonderful  pale. 
You  used  to  have  as  bright  a  color 

As  ever  the  sun  rose  on." 

"Aje  you  blind.  Lord  Thomasf  she  said, 
"Or  can  you  not  very  well  see? 

Don't  you  see  my  own  heart's  blood 
Come  dribbling  down  to  my  knees?" 

Lord  Thomas  he  was  a  worthy  man. 

He  wore  a  sword  by  his  side. 
He  off  with  his  own  bride's  head 

And  dashed  it  against  the  wall 

He  ordered  a  coffin  to  be  made^ 

A  coffin  both  wide  and  long. 
He  ordered  fair  Ellinor  at  his  right  side 

And  the  brown  girl  at  his  feet 


J 


m 


Ths  Qum  OF  THB  Ballad 

Thii  ballad,  like  many  othen  idiidi  I  am  fortunate 
enouj^  to  remember,  not  as  mere  tuocetnoiia  of  lines  and 
stanias,  but  as  vivid  and  resonant  songs  with  appropriate 
music,  moved  to  the  Dorian  m**  >f  a  sombre  minor  strain 
iHiidi  even  Lucy's  timid  and  rather  shrill  delivery  could 
not  rob  of  its  effectiveness.  It  will  be  noticed  Uiat  the 
story  comes  to  a  somewhat  abrupt  and  disjointed  condu- 
ai<m,  and  this  was  immediately  remariced  by  Lucy  herself, 
who  paused  before  the  last  stanza  and  prodaimed  in  great 
distress  that  there  was  a  verse  in  here  tiiat  she  couldn't  re- 
member to  save  her  soul.  After  delivering  the  concluding 
stanza  she  went  back  and  groped  around  desperately  in 
the  remote  comers  of  her  mind,  but  all  that  she  could  drag 
forth  was  the  recollection  that  the  missing  stanza  told 
about  tl^  death  of  Lord  Thomas  by  his  own  hand. 

In  the  shame  occasioned  by  this  lapse  in  conduct  she 
was  exceedingly  anxious  to  make  such  atonement  as  lay 
within  her  power,  and  with  this  purpose  in  view  she  pres- 
ently announced  that  she  could  remember  part  of  an  old 
song  which  her  uncle  used  to  sing  for  the  womm  "when 
he  was  feelin'  good-natured,"  and  which  was  caUed  "Bar- 
ben/  Ellen."  I  signified  a  willingness  to  listen,  and  she 
proceeded  eagerly  with  the  following  version  of  "Barbara 
AUen,"  the  most  widely  known  and  sung  of  all  the  sur- 
viving "English  and  Scottish  popular  ballads." 

It  was  the  very  month  of  May, 
And  the  green  buds  they  were  swelling. 

Young  Jimmy  Groves  on  his  death-bed  lay 
For  the  love  of  Barberry  Ellen. 


100 


M 


He  lent  Wi  man  down  to  tLo  town 

M  jke  Urte  wd  ooinc  to  my  miuto?i^ 
"  your  name  is  Bwbeny  BUen." 

Slowly,  slowly  she  got  up. 
And  so  dowly  she  ctme  nigh  him. 
I  aumot  keep  you  from  your  grave. 
Young  man,  I  think  you're  dying." 

He  turned  his  back  to  her  then. 

A  deadly  swound  he  f eU  in. 
He  bid  adieu  to  all  his  friends 

And  adieu  to  Barbeny  Ellen. 

As  she  was  walking  in  the  plain 

She  heard  the  death-bell  toUimr. 
And  every  stroke  it  seemed  toTJ. 
O  cruel  Barberry  Ellen." 

As  she  was  walking  on  the  road 
bhe  met  the  corpse  asjoming. 

That  I  may  look  upon  him." 

The  more  she  looked  the  more  she  Uughed 
I]jr  the  love  that  he  had  for  her.     ^ 

^e  aU  of  her  friends  cried  out,  "For  shame. 
O  cruel  Barberry  Ellen."  '°'"»*me, 

^en  he  was  dead  and  hud  in  grave 
^'or  I  will  die  tomorrow. 

101 


Iliiw 


^1 


I'f 


I 


The  Quxr  or  thb  Ballad 

'*H«rd-hearted  creature  that  I  was, 

Who  lovM  me  lo  dearfy. 
O  that  I  had  more  kinder  been 

When  he  was  alive  and  near  me. 

"Come  young  and  old,  both  great  and  small. 

And  shun  the  fall  I  fell  in. 
Henceforth  take  warning  by  the  fall 

Of  cruel  Barberry  Ellen." 

iMcy  was  not  the  only  member  of  her  gifted  family  to 
whom  I  went  weeping  for  the  loss  of  Little  Ned,  and  bear* 
ing  the  precious  seed  of  my  recollections  of  the  old  singer; 
nor  was  she  the  only  one  f nnn  wlunn  I  returned,  at  the 
dose  of  the  day,  rejoicing  and  bearing  my  sheaves  with 
me.  As  my  quest  proceeded  I  kept  hearing  occasional 
sinister  references  to  one  "Isaac's  Ellen,"  who  had  left  the 
community  years  before,  but  who,  in  her  younger  days  at 
least,  sang  and  danced  and  was  "chuck  full  of  the  old  boy." 
It  appeared,  moreover,  that  Isaac's  Ellen  had  been  at- 
tracted to  profane  music  rather  than  to  the  psalms,  hymns, 
and  spiritual  songs  of  the  more  civilized  and  godly  anumg 
her  neighbors. 

From  my  selfish  and  biased  point  of  view  this  descrip- 
tion served  only  to  make  Isaac's  Ellen  seem  lovely  and 
desirable,  and  I  diligently  sought  for  her  until  I  found 
her.  She  readily  acknowledged  that  she  had  learned  a 
good  many  ballads  in  former  years,  from  the  singing  of 
her  mother  and  her  two  uncles,  who  used  to  get  together 
in  the  evenings  and  "sing  old  songs  turn  about."  She  was 
not  at  all  sure,  however,  that  any  of  these  songs  were  of  a 
nature  to  be  acceptable  to  me.  The  fact  is  that  Ellen  had 
seen  a  bit  of  town  life,  and  out  of  her  experience  she  was 

lOS 


GiMunni  AjntQVM 
•uviciout  that  I  might  be  «  gentkman,  and  therefon 
•bovetttch  enterUininait  M  the  couM  offer.    I  exerted 

myeelf  vigoroudy,  therefore,  to  conTinoe  her  tut  in  ioine 
reepecti  I  wMnogenUeman  at  dl,  end  in  thii  I  succeeded 
ILT?  *^*  "^  «°^y  proceeded  to  ring,  though  eren 
then  the  ielected  her  longi  my  ciuefuUy  and  kept .  keen 
weather  qre  upon  me  for  iigni  of  annoyance  or  diidaln. 

consideration,  ihe  felt  that  the  could  venture  to  prewit  to 
the  person  of  delicacy  and  refinement  that  she  still  sus- 
pwted  me  to  be,  but  airnng  these  there  we»  no  genuine 
old  Enghsh  and  Scottish  popular  ballads."  It  isto  her 
•mail  mece,  who  was  present  at  the  first  interview,  and 
wbo  was  too  young  to  have  eaten  from  the  tree  of  the 

I?**^^,**!  ^^  ""^  *^'  **»*  ™y  «»«>k«  "«  due  foi 
the  old  ballad  which  I  shall  presently  offer.  This  helpful 
ZJ^  «"PPl«^ented  my  rather  indefinite  requests  by  a 

fT!??"uS*i  ^  •""*  •**°"^^  »^e  "^  "^  -bout  the 
1^  that  lolled  her  two  babies."  whereat  Z%us  hw^y 
mfomed  that  there  was  no  such  song,  and  was  furthi 

requested  not  to  open  her  meddlesome  mouth  amin.  I 
boWIy  seccjtid*^  the  niece's  entreaties,  and  ext^the 
admsfflon  that  there  was  such  a  song,  entitled  "The  Green- 
wood  Sidmg,    but  was  assured  that  it  was  incredibly  fool- 

^^  ur!"  J'lT  ^^«  «sP«*»We.  and  that  no- 
body  would  be  offended  sooner  than  myself  if  it  were  sune 

mi^  presence.  In  the  course  of  the  argument  which  fol- 
rj^'Im'r^^^  graciously  allowed  herself  to  be 
persuaded  that  I  was  a  person  not  easUy  offended,  and 

The  Cruel  Mother,"  rendered  in  a  subdued  n^or  key- 


108 


N 


H, 


i  I 


i 


H 


■^* 


The  Quest  of  the  Baxxao 

There  was  a  lady  came  from  York. 

Doton  alone  in  the  lonely 
She  fell  in  love  with  her  father's  clerk. 
Down  alone  by  the  greentoood  ridhrn 

She  loved  him  well,  she  loved  fc  m  long, 

Down  alone  in  the  lonely 
Till  at  length  this  young  maid  v>  ith  child  she 

did  prove. 
Down  ahne  by  the  greentoood  riding 

She  leaned  her  back  against  ar  oak, 

Down  alone  in  the  lonely 
Whm  first  it  bowed  and  then  it  broke. 
Down  alone  by  the  greenwood  riding 

She  leaned  herself  against  a  thorn, 

Down  ahne  in  the  lonely 
And  then  her  two  babes  they  were  bom. 
Down  alone  by  the  greenwood  riding 

She  took  her  pen-knife  keen  and  sharp, 

Down  alone  in  the  lonely 
And  she  pierced  it  through  their  innocent 

hearts. 
Down  alone  by  the  greenwood  riding 

She  dug  a  hole  seven  feet  deep. 

Down  alone  in  the  lonely 
She  threw  them  in  and  bid  them  sleep. 
Down  ahne  by  the  greenwood  riding 

It's  when  this  young  maid  was  returning 
home 
Down  ahne  in  the  lonely 
She  saw  two  babes  a-playing  ball. 
Down  alone  by  the  greenwood  riding 

104 


t 


GSKUINB  AmiQITXi 

"O  babes,  O  babes,  i£  you  were  mine, 

Doten  alone  in  the  lonely 
I  would  dress  you  up  in  silks  so  fine.*' 
Down  alone  hy  ike  greenwood  tiding 

"O  mother.  O  mother,  when  we  were  thine 

Oown  alone  in  the  lonely 
You  did  not  dress  us  in  silks  so  fine. 
Ootvn  alone  by  the  greenwood  tiding 

"But  you  took  your  pen-knife  keen  and  sharp. 

Down  alone  in  the  lonely 
And  you  pierced  it  through  our  innocent 
hearts. 

Down  alone  by  the  greenwood  riding 

"You  dug  a  hole  seven  feet  deep. 

Down  alone  in  the  lonely 
You  threw  us  in  and  bid  us  sleep." 
Down  alone  by  the  greenwood  tiding 

"O  babes,  O  babes,  what  shall  I  do 
Down  alone  m  the  londy 

For  the  wicked  crime  I  have  done  unto  your 
liown  alone  by  the  greenwood  riding 

"O  mother,  O  mother,  it's  us  can  telL 
Down  alone  in  the  lonely 

For  it's  seven  long  years  you  shaU  ring  a  belL 
Down  alone  by  the  greenwood  riding 

"And  seven  more  like  an  owl  in  the  wooda. 
Down  alone  in  the  lonely 

And  seven  more  like  a  whale  in  the  sea. 
Down  alone  by  the  greenwood  riding 

lOi 


!d 


I 


illl 


•r, 


\\ 


ft 

1 1 


ifi 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

*'The  rest  of  your  time  you  shall  be  in  hell, 

Down  tdone  in  the  lonely 
And  it's  there  you'll  be  fixed  for  eternity." 
Dofom,  alone  by  the  greenioood  aiding 

When  the  singing  was  concluded  1  hastened  to  express 
my  satisfaction,  laying  heavy  stress  upon  the  mellow  an- 
tiquity of  the  ballad.  But  Isaac's  Ellen  was  inclined  to 
be  sardonic.  The  story,  she  vehemently  suspected,  was  an 
out-and-out  lie.  There  might  be  such  things  as  ghosts,  to 
be  sure,  and  we  all  knew  that  there  were  plenty  of  people 
who  believed  in  them;  but  when  it  came  to  a  game  of  ball 
and  a  long  sermon  from  the  ghosts  of  two  babies  it  was 
quite  evident  that  the  person  who  made  up  the  lie  was  go- 
ing a  little  too  far.  Furthermore,  if  the  song  was  an  old 
one  it  seemed  rather  queer  that  it  should  be  about  a  place 
called  the  Greenwood  Siding.  Railroads  were  started  not 
so  very  long  ago,  and  the  siding,  as  every  educated  person 
knew,  was  a  part  of  the  railroad. 

I  took  no  bold  stand  on  these  abstruse  matters,  but 
made  haste  to  copy  the  ballad  and  shelter  it  in  my  inside 
pocket  from  the  devastating  blast  of  Ellen's  higher  criti- 
cism. It  was  quite  plain  that  EUen  had  become  modern- 
ized beyond  the  limits  within  which  a  singer  must  keep  if 
he  is  to  be  an  effective  perpetuator  of  tradition.  If  bal- 
lads are  to  be  kept  alive  they  must  be  simg  by  believers 
to  believers.  The  least  breath  of  scepticism  or  of  conde- 
scension is  fatal;  and  while  the  sceptic  may  memorize  a 
ballad  as  an  interesting  curiosity  or  copy  it  down  as  a 
significant  relic,  he  cannot  nourish  it  in  a  soil  where  it  will 
continue  to  grow  and  develop  as  it  has  done  in  the  past. 
I  myself  regard  all  popular  ballads  with  affectionate  ad- 

108 


GSKUIME  AntIQUBS 

miratioii,  but  since  I  cannot  accept  the  tale  of  the  ghosts 
with  conviction  I  am  even  less  fitted  to  perpetuate  "The 
Grerawood  Siding"  as  a  popular  tradition  than  was  Ellen, 
who  had  not  entirely  shaken  herself  free  from  the  shackles 
of  behef  .  Most  of  the  singers  whom  I  have  presented  in 
these  pages  were  simple  old  men  and  women  who  not  only 
loved  and  admired  their  baUads,  but  who  sang  in  the  un- 
questioning belief  that  they  were  detailing  faithful  records 

of  actual  events;  and  of  such  people  is  composed  the  slen- 
der hnk  between  the  collector  and  the  unrecorded  tradi- 
tions of  the  past.  It  seems  to  me  to  be  of  great  signifi- 
cance that,  out  of  the  scores  of  ballads  which  I  have  heard 
at  VMious  times,  no  other  oc  >  has  been  thus  subjected  by 

tiie  smger  to  the  fierce  light  of  rational  inquiry.  And.  m 
I  have  shown,  it  was  only  by  a  lucky  accident  that  I  was 
enabled  to  hear  Ellen's  singing  of  "The  Greenwood  Sid- 
ing. My  firm  belief,  then,  is  that  ballad-singers— who 
are  of  an  entirely  different  race  from  other  singers—per- 
petuate  only  those  ballads  which  from  their  point  of  view 
are  trustworthy  records  of  actual  and  important  happen- 
mp,  couched  in  language  that  is  fitting  and  effective.  If 
Ellen  had  been  absolutely  certain  that  "The  Greenwood 
Sidmg*  was  an  imposture  she  would  probably  not  have 
sung  it  even  to  her  small  and  credulous  niece. 

The  next  "English  and  Scottish  popular  ballad"  which 
I  shaU  present  received  its  fuU  meed  of  admiration  and 
confidence  from  the  old  man  who  sang  it  to  me.  The 
ballad  is  a  version  of  "Captain  Wedderbum's  Courtship," 
and  the  singer  was  John  Adamson,  a  hale  and  vigorous 
youtii  of  eighty-five,  who  in  his  day  had  mightUy  wielded 
the  lumberman's  axe,  and  as  migh%  had  striven  with 
any  baUad-smger  who  had  cared  to  matdi  him,  song  for 

107 


f> 


I 


I 


i! 


Ill  \ 


m 


Thx  Qxtest  of  the  Ballad 

wag.  One  of  his  stoutest  allies  in  these  stirring  times  was 
the  merry  and  resourceful  Captain  whose  courtship  ani- 
mates the  following  tale: 

The  Duke  of  Merchant's  daughter  walked  out  one 

summer's  day. 
She  met  a  bold  sea-captain  by  chance  upon  the  way. 
He  says,  "My  pretty  fair  maid,  if  it  wasn't  for  the  law 
I  would  have  you  in  my  bed  this  night  by  either  stock 

or  wa'.** 

She  sighed  and  said,  "Young  man,  oh,  do  not  me 
perplex. 

* 
You  must  answer  me  in  questions  six  before  that  I 

gang  awa'. 
Or  before  that  I  lie  in  your  bed  by  either  stock  or  wa'. 

"O  what  is  rounder  than  your  ring  ?  What's  higher 

than  the  trees? 
Or  what  is  worse  than  woman's  tongue?    What's 

deeper  than  the  seas? 

What  bird  sings  first,  what  bird  sings  last?   Or  where 

does  the  dew  first  fall?— 
Before  that  I  lie  in  your  bed  by  either  stock  or  wall." 

"The  globe  is  rounder  than  your  ring.    Sky's  higher 

than  the  trees. 
The  devil's  worse  than  woman's  tongue.     Hell's 

deeper  than  the  seas. 

The  roe  sings  first,  the  thirst  sings  last.    On  the  earth 
the  dew  first  falls. 

So  you  and  I  lie  in  one  bed,  and  you  lie  next  the 
wall." 

108 


• »  '  *  '  f  fn" 


Gknuinx  AmiQusg 

"You  must  get  for  me  some  winter  fruit  whirb  in  De- 
cember grew. 

You  must  get  for  me  a  silken  cloak  that  ne'er  .  wirfl 
went  through, 

A  sparrow's  thorn,  a  priest  new-born,  before  that  I 
gang  awa'. 

Before  that  I  lie  in  your  bed  by  eithf    stock  or  wa'." 

"My  father's  got  some  winter  fruit  which  in  Decern- 
her  grew. 

My  mother's  got  a  silken  doak  that  ne'er  a  waft  went 
throu^. 

Sparrow's  thorns  they're  easy  found.   There's  one  on 
every  daw. 

So  you  and  I  lie  in  one  bed  and  you  lie  next  the  wa'." 

"You  must  get  for  my  wedding  supper  a  diicken 
without  a  bone. 

You  must  get  for  my  wedding  supper  a  dierry  with- 
out a  stone. 

You  must  get  for  me  a  gentle  bird,  a  bird  without  a 
Before  that  I  lie  in  your  bed  by  either  stock  or  waU." 

"^  W*^*  "^^^  '  ^  ^  ^^  ^'"^  """  ^*  ^  °° 

And  when  the  dieny's  in  full  bloom  I'm  sure  it  has 
no  stone. 

The  dove  it  is  a  gentle  bird.    It  flies  without  a  gall. 
So  you  and  I  he  m  one  bed  and  you  lie  next  the  wS/' 

He  took  her  ^  the  Wy-white  hand  and  led  her 
through  tiie  hall. 

100 


} 


•f^* 


f''i 


Thx  Quest  of  thb  Ballad 

He  held  her  by  the  slender  waist  for  fear  that  she 

would  fall. 
He  led  her  on  his  bed  of  down  without  a  doubt  at  all. 
So  he  and  she  lies  in  one  bed,  and  he  lies  next  the  wall 

"He  rolled  over,"  explained  old  John  in  thunderous 
tones.  "That's  what  it  means.— She  was  a  smart  gyurl." 
be  added  reflectively,  "with  her  riddles  an'  her  puzzles. 
But  she  wasn't  as  smart  as  him.  She  met  her  match  when 
she  run  across  the  captain." 

This  song,  John  explained,  was  called  "Six  Questions," 
and  here  his  explanation  ended.  I  pressed  him  for  infor- 
mation concerning  the  history  and  currency  of  the  ballad, 
^t  these  antiquarian  matters  were  of  no  interest  to  him. 
He  had  learned  it,  countless  years  ago,  from  his  wife,  who 
was  no  mean  singer  herself.  His  wife  had  learned  it 
from  a  friend,"  and  there  the  "Sk  Questions"  disap- 
peared m  the  mist.  But  the  song  was  a  good  song  and  a 
true,  and  what  more  did  one  need  to  know? 

The  "Six  Questions"  I  procured  on  one  of  my  excur- 
sions in  the  hiUy  region  which  Ues  back  from  the  north 
shore  of  Nova  Scotia.  My  next  find  was  made  on  the  sea- 
coast,  m  the  heart  of  the  district  that  I  was  using  as  a  base 
of  operations. 

One  morning  I  stroUed  through  a  hayfield  to  where  old 
Sandy  Rogers  was  sitting  upon  the  horse-rake  and  shout- 
mg  orders  to  his  patient  beast  with  the  air  of  robust  indig- 
nation which  is  assumed,  as  a  matter  of  etiquette,  by  aU 
men  who  labor  with  horses.  Sandy,  when  under  the  infl- 
ence  of  a  softer  mood,  had  been  overheard  by  one  of  my 
spies  in  the  process  of  trolling  an  old  and  unfamiliar  ditty 
as  he  was  driving  in  to  the  bam  one  evening.    He  was  a 

no 


GxKuiNx  AmriQuxs 
man-of-aU-work  op  a  devotee  of  slothful  ease  accordimr 
S'l.^f  ?'^??  °'  opportunities  of  the  season,  andlte 
fished,  shingled  bams,  worked  at  the  crops,  or  reposed  upon 
the  lap  of  his  dooryard.  with  equal  mind.  On  the  day^ 
question  he  was  helping  one  of  the  fanners  to  gamer  his 
hay,  and  as  I  approached  he  reined  in  his  horse  with  a 

solcnin  and  portentous  air  to  pass  the  time  of  day  with  me. 
I  couW  81^  oncw"  admitted  Sandy,  while  he  thought- 

fully  extracted  a  black  fig  of  Pictou  twist  from  the  pStet 
of  his  overaUs,  "but  nobody  ever  wants  to  hear  th^^ 

.^  "**''•. ^,^,^»«"«  ''^Pi°'^'»  knotted  his  forehead. 
What  on  atfth  do  you  want  to  i^te  them  down  for,"  he 

f  T?^r' u  *^*  "*°^  ^^  y*^"*  *^*'»  ««t  he*«  house 
full  o  books  about  hist'ry  and  portry?"   I  labored  to  con- 

Zwnn!?  *C.       ^  ™r  *  *^^"  **^«  «°  ^terest  in  old- 
fashioned  thrngp  even  if  other  people  were,  and  finaUy  got 

his  promise  to  thmk  up  as  many  old  songs  as  he  could  id 
^woTafri!^;i^.^"*^^'^^«-*™*~-etto 

Two  or  three  days  after  this  the  wind  swung  round  to 
^  T^!f^  ^"^^  ^  *^*  ^**^'  «toJid  mass  of  black 
S  *4'^w,*''"*^  ^  '**°™'»°  "^  to  the  fireside  of 
Sandy.  Well,  roared  my  prospective  entertainer  when 
I  had  responded  to  this  summons,  "a  nice  mess  I  ben  mak- 
in  otiiehaysmcelwastalkin'toyel  I'd  start  me  horse 
m  gitgom  on  one  o' them  blame  old  songs,  an*  the  first 
^^UfZ  ^  '^  ^  ^"^-^^y  '^^^  *h«  fieW  with  me  W 

ST^J^K^  •''''*  ""'."i^^"**'"  I '"•de  haste  to  assiui 
Sandy  that^  m  my  opimon.  the  cause  had  fully  justified 

♦t'  TJ^^^  *^  ™"«^*  "I«°  ^  windrows,  since 
ttie  neglected  hay  was  a  crop  that  could  be  renewed  year 
by  year,  while  the  precious  ballads  which  were  gamer«i  in 

111 


il 


■1 


Tna  QxjxsT  of  thb  Ballad 
hi.  memory  had  been  gle«ed  from  a  aofl  which  could 
never  .gam  yield  this  kind  of  fruit  in  its  sea«m 

Sandy  was  inclined,  on  the  whole,  to  sympathize  with 
th,.  pomt  of  view,  and  under  its  muenT^lZr^t 
rigorously  to  work.   He  had  several  baUads  of  the  se^^f 

^wan  and  of  the  loves  of  young  men  and  maidens?ind 
each,  as  its  turn  came,  was  delivered  in  tones  that  caused 
the  fraU  waUs  and  the  loosened  windows  of  his  cottage  to 
-Wee  w,thd««L  Finally  he  seized  upon  one^wTa^ 
most  mmiediately  broke  away  from  him.  With  a  terrific 
clearmg  of  the  throat  he  grasped  at  it  again: 

In  India  lived  a  noble  lord- 
He's  riches  wuz  beyond  compare. 

I  m  settm  back  m  me  chair.  If  I  was  out  on  the  rake 
drivm  up  and  down  the  field.  I'd  bUme  soon  give  it  to* 
ye^  He  suddenly  leaped  to  his  feet.  "You  sef  stiU  f« 
a  mmute.   he  commanded,  and  rushed  out  into  the  yard 

I  peeredcautiously  through  the  window,  and  beheld  a 
shmng  spectacle    Sandy  was  marching  resolutely  up  anS 

^rJ^l  ^"  ;r*^  "r"  ^*^«  "^^  ^^  *°d  beird  toss- 
Zii^T  V^t  "°'  '*^  ^'-  ^^  ^P'  ^o'ked  spas- 
S*  ^\r*^  VT'  "  ^"^^"^  ^^'d  °'  «y"*We  cine 
^^^,'^'^J^'^^^^^^gP'>nes.    Presently  he  made 

a  rush  for  the  door,  and  I  had  barely  time  to  4mie  my 
seat  and  replace  my  pipe  when  he  hurtled  himself  through 
the  room,  flung  himself  into  his  chair,  and  broke  i,^  a 
ragmg  and  irresistible  torrent  of  song. 
The  baUad  which  was  thus  resolutely  hunted  down  and 

lit 


the  Jrof^rn*"'  '"""•^'  "'"'  ^■'«"--'>-  -"ived  the  allotted 


period  of 


iBiBi 


I  i 

If  %  I 


I  U  i!i 


m 


m 

If' 


!  il 


■I 


M' 


•ecurely  fettered  wu  the  old  Sooteh  ballad  wfaidi  hat  ap- 
peared at  varioua  timet  and  in  various  placet  at  "Young 
Bdchan."  "Young  Bicham,"  "Lord  Bacon,"  and  "Lord 
Bateman,"  to  mentic:i  a  few  of  itt  more  familiar  captioot. 
The  latt-mentioDed  title  was  the  one  employed  by  Sandy, 
and  the  one,  therefore,  which  had  been  current  in  thit  dis- 
trict in  the  dayt  when  the  ballad  had  lived,  moved,  and 
had  itt  being. 

Some  parts  of  Sandy's  version  were  suspiciously  inco- 
herent, and  this  he  himself  was  quite  ready  to  admit  His 
suggestion  was  that  I  should  look  up  his  elder  brother 
Dave,  who  used  to  sing  the  song  in  days  gone  by,  and  who 
could  now  be  found  in  a  village  about  twenty  miles  away. 
Towards  Dave,  then,  I  set  my  course  a  day  or  jwo  after 
my  visit  to  Sandy. 

Both  Dave  and  Sandy  had  vigorously  survived  the  al- 
lotted period  of  the  life  of  man,  but  Dave  still  held  the 
superior  and  somewhat  contemptuous  attitude  towards  a 
relatively  youthful  and  ignorant  brother  which  had  been 
the  conventional  relation  of  their  earlier  days.  "Whatr 
exclaimed  Dave  with  scorn,  when  I  told  him  of  Sandy's 
recital  of  "Lord  Bateman,"  "did  Sandy  try  to  make  ye  be- 
Ueve  that  he  knowed  that  song?  Well,  I'm  jist  very 
doubtful  ii  Sandy  knowed  it.  I'm  very  doubtful  if  he 
knowed  it.  There  used  to  be  two  people  that  could  sing 
that  song  an*  sing  it  right.  One  o'  them  was  me  father  an' 
one  was  me,  an*  me  father's  been  dead  now  for  close  onto 
seventeen  year." 

It  was  doubtless  owing  to  Dave's  unwillingness  to  enter 

mto  a  mere  competition  with  the  youthful  and  erratic 

Sandy  that  he  refused  to  sing  the  ballad  at  this  stage. 

You  go  ahead,"  he  commanded,  "an'  read  it  the  way 

lis 


i!  ■  \ 


III 

■  !    i 

Ml 

4\'\ 


Ths  Qvht  or  thb  Ballad 

SMidy  give  it  to  ye.  an'  ITl  let  ye  know  when  he'i  got  H 
wrong."  I  therefore  proceeded  with  the  first  and  second 
•taniM,  and  at  the  conclufioD  of  each  Dare  judidaUy  sig- 
nified approval  with  the  remark,  "He's  heard  me  sing  it 
often  enough  to  git  that  part  right"  Then  I  read  the 
third  stania: 

He  sailM  east  and  he  sailM  west. 

Until  he  came  to  a  Turkish  shore. 
There  he  was  taken  and  put  in  prison. 

And  bound  down  in  irons  strong. 

Dave's  upraised  hand  brought  me  to  a  sudden  halt 
"Sandy  thought,"  said  Dave  bitterly,  "that  he  could  sing 
'Lord  Bateman'  for  ye,  did  he?  Do  ye  know  how  that 
verse  goes,  when  it's  sung  right?"  Dave  dosed  his  eyes 
and  tunefully  made  answer  to  himself: 

He  saflM  east  and  he  sailM  west 

Until  he  came  to  a  Turkish  shore. 
There  he  was  taken  and  put  in  prison. 

Where  he  could  neither  see  nor  hear. 

In  such  fashion  we  proceeded  through  the  ballad,  at 
every  step  observing  the  most  extreme  cmition.  Some- 
times Dave  yielded  to  Sandy  a  grudging  approval,  and 
sometimes  he  convicted  him  of  enormous  crimes  against 
truth,  correctness,  rhyme,  and  metre.  The  resultant  bal- 
lad, which  I  shall  now  present  is  as  a  matter  of  fact  not 
very  different  from  the  original  version  whidi  I  procured 
from  the  much-berated  Sandy: 


114 


GsifUDrS  AlfTIQUBt 

In  Indim  lived  »  noble  lord. 

Hit  richei  wm  beyond  compue. 
He  WM  the  darling  of  hit  paienti. 

Of  tbdr  estate  the  only  heir. 
In  India  lived  a  noble  lord. 

Hit  xjchet  was  beyond  compare. 
And  yet  he  could  never  be  contented 

Until  a  voyage  he  took  to  tea. 
He  iuM  east  and  he  saUM  west. 

Until  he  came  to  a  TuAish  shore. 
There  he  was  taken  and  put  in  prison. 

Where  he  could  neither  see  nor  hear. 
For  seven  long  months  he  ky  lamenting. 

He  lay  kmenting  in  irons  strong, 
Till  he  chanced  to  see  the  brisk  young  lady 
Who  set  him  free  f rran  his  prison  chains. 
The  gaoler  had  one  only  dau^ter. 
A  brisk  young  lady  gay  was  she. 
As  she  was  passing  the  prison  door 

She  chanced  Lord  Bateman  for  to  see. 
She  stole  the  keys  of  her  father's  prison. 
And  opened  it  without  delay. 

"Have  you  got  gold,  and  have  you  got  silver? 

Have  you  got  houses  of  high  degree? 
And  what  would  you  give  to  a  fair  lady 

'.f  she  from  bcmdage  would  set  you  hteV* 

"Yes,  I've  got  gold,  and  I've  got  silver. 
And  I've  got  houses  of  high  degree. 

And  all  I'd  give  to  a  fair  lady 
If  she  from  bandage  would  set  me  free." 
lis 


jmm^ 


Thb  Quest  or  thx  Baxxad 

"It*s  not  your  gold,  nor  yet  your  silver. 
Nor  yet  your  houses  of  hig^  degree. 

All  that  I  want  to  make  me  happy, 
AH  that  I  crave  u  your  fair  bod^. 

"Let's  make  a  bargain  and  make  it  strong. 
For  seven  long  years  tiiat  it  may  stand. 

That  you  will  wed  with  no  other  woman. 
And  me  to  wed  with  no  other  man." 

When  seven  long  years  were  gone  and  past. 
When  seven  l<nig  years  were  at  an  end. 

She  packM  up  her  richest  clothing. 
Saying,  "Now  111  go  and  seek  my  friend." 

She  sailM  east  and  she  sailM  west 
Until  she  came  to  an  Indian  shore. 

It's  there  she  could  not  be  contented. 
All  for  her  true  love  she  did  inquire. 

She  inquired  for  Lord  Bateman's  palace 

At  eveiy  comer  of  the  street 
She  inquired  for  Lord  Bateman's  palace 

Of  every  person  she  chanced  to  meet. 

And  when  she  came  to  Lord  Bateman's  palace 
She  knocked  so  loudly  on  the  ring. 

And  none  was  so  ready  as  the  brisk  young 
porter. 
To  rise  and  let  this  young  lady  in. 

She  asked,  "Is  this  Lord  Bateman's  palace? 

Or  is  the  lord  himself  within?" 
"O  yes,  O  yes,"  said  the  brisk  young  porter, 

"He  and  his  new  bride  h%a  just  come  in." 


118 


Gknuinx  AmuxuMB 

She  wept,  she  wept  and  wtup^  her  handf, 

Crying,  "AUu,  I  am  undone! 
I  wish  I  was  in  my  natire  ccnmtiy 

Across  the  seas  there  to  remain. 

"Go  tell  him  to  send  me  one  ounce  of  bread 

And  one  bottle  of  his  wine  so  strong. 
And  ask  him  if  he's  foigot  the  la^ 

That  set  him  free  from  his  prison  strong." 

The  porter  went  unto  his  master 
^   And  kneelM  low  down  on  his  knees. 
'Arise,  arise,  my  brisk  young  porter. 
And  tell  me  what  the  matter  is." 

"There  is  a  fair  Udy  stands  at  your  gate^ 
And  she  doth  weep  most  bitterly. 

I  think  she  is  the  £best  creature 
That  I  erer  wish  my  eyes  to  see. 

"She's  got  more  rings  on  her  forefinger. 
Around  her  waist  she  wears  diamond  strings. 

She  s  got  more  gold  about  her  clothing 
Than  your  new  bride  and  all  her  kin. 

"She  wants  you  to  send  her  one  ounce  of  bread. 
One  bottle  of  your  wine  so  strong. 

She  wants  me  to  ask  if  you've  forgot  the  lady 
That  set  you  free  from  your  prison  strong." 

He  stamped  his  foot  upon  the  floor. 
He  broke  the  table  in  pieces  three. 
Saying,  "Adieu,  adieu  to  my  new  wedded  bride, 
or  this  fair  Udy  I'll  go  md  see." 

iir 


1 


i 


fe 


-f 


>!= 


- 


Thx  Qjmn  or  thx  Ballad 

It's  up  and  steps  the  new  bride's  mother. 
And  she  was  a  lady  of  high  degree* 

Saying,  "You  have  married  my  onty  dau^ter." 
"Well,  she  is  none  the  worse  of  me. 

"Since  my  fair  one  has  arrived 

A  second  wedding  there  shall  be. 
Your  daughter  came  on  a  horse  and  saddle. 

She  shall  go  home  on  a  coach  and  three." 

He  took  this  lady  by  the  hand. 
He  led  her  over  the  marble  stones. 

He  changed  her  name  from  Susanna  fair. 
And  now  she's  the  wife  of  Lord  Bateman. 

He  took  her  by  the  lily-white  hand. 
He  led  her  through  from  room  to  room. 

He  changed  her  name  from  Susanna  fair. 
And  now  she's  the  wife  of  Lord  Bateman. 

My  discussion  of  the  Nova  Scotian  versions  of  the  old 
EnglisT  and  Scottish  ballads  is  beginning  to  exhibit  signs 
of  plethora,  but  it  must  be  still  further  expanded  to  in- 
dude  a  very  interesting  version  of  "Young  Johnson." 
This  IS  not,  so  far  as  I  can  discover,  one  of  the  ballads  that 
were  widelv  .rent  in  the  good  old  singing  days,  but  it 
used  to  t  .  by  a  favored  few,  and  one  of  these  few 
was  John  .:■  tasMatheson.  John  Thomas  himself  made 
this  mcaut^ui.  admission  to  me  one  afternoon,  and  for 
many  a  day  after  he  most  bitterly  regretted  his  indiscre- 
tion.  He  had,  to  be  sure,  sung  ballads  in  the  early  days 
of  his  thoughtless  youth,  but  even  then  he  had  been  inter- 
ested  m  his  function  of  entertainer  rather  than  in  the  in- 
trinsic merit  of  his  songs,  and  the  intervening  years  which 

111 


Fupthermore,  John  Thomas  wia  m  i^m^^^  * 

KjQiciog  in  the  inward  Baaurmrwm  ♦!.-*  """»""«  ""  "Mn, 
*<*  nor  pliy.  '^  »*l>«th,  when  we  miut  neither 

I  «rtart«i  fhm  J^  ;^  ^  ^  J^"  when 
be  Ale  to  Uiink  UP.  feH^,^?^™' *'^  •« '»«'* 

r»f*»»«  «n«tion  of  the  UoTm^Z^  ^^"^ 
mg /iBm  John  Thomw  it  iT!!  r»l^^  "^  "»°- 
.  tde  told  by  „  iiuT^lvVj^  T^  ^«™**«*  «»» 
■"-like  PiioT^^^lXS' •  It^"«  "«•  '^- 
"wxhwble  «larai.3  i^JJrr  ™  "J""  •  "W"  but 

119 


Thx  Quxbt  or  thb  Ballas 

girl  ^o  had  found  special  favor  in  the  light  of  tiw  old 
man,  and  she  dieof ulty  and  ocmfidently  guaranteed  to 
procure  the  ballad  f  or  nw  if  I  would  leave  the  whole  mat- 
ter of  negotiations  to  her.  Consequently,  when  Jdtm 
Thomas  loolrad  hopef uUy  across  the  load  one  morning  for 
his  usual  greeting  from  his  young  friend  he  was  met  with 
a  request  for  a  song  named  "Young  Johnson,"  and  the 
following  monung,  when  he  was  reassuring  himself  that 
he  had  cunningly  disposed  of  the  whole  matter,  he  was 
asked  to  name  the  hour  after  school  at  whidi  he  could  most 
conveniently  repeui  the  aong.  Day  in  and  day  out  my 
accomplice  reminded  him  of  the  song  as  Desdemona  re- 
minded OtheUo  of  the  suit  of  Michael  Cassio,  and  partly 
through  despair  at  the  prospect  of  an  endless  persecuticm 
and  partly  throu^^  a  kindly  desire  to  win  approbation 
from  the  child  whom  he  delighted  to  honor,  he  finally  re- 
peated the  following  version,  vMah  was  triumphantly 
copied  out  and  delivered  to  me  by  my  ally: 

As  Johnson  and  ihe  young  Colonel 

Together  were  drinking  wine 
Says  Johns<m  to  the  young  Colonel, 

"If  you'D  marry  my  sister.  111  marry  thine." 

"Xo,  I'U  not  marry  your  rister. 

Nor  shall  you  marry  mine. 
For  I  will  keep  her  for  a  miss 

As  I  go  throuj^  the  town." 

Young  Johnson  has  drawn  his  broad  bright 
sword 

Which  himg  low  down  to  the  ground. 
And  he  has  given  the  young  Colonel 

A  deep  and  a  deadly  wound. 

ISO 


Id 
to 
A- 
in 
or 
th 
le 
It 
u 
rt 

ly 

ly 

Q 
B- 

y 


Gxmmrm  AxTSQum 

Then  mounting  en  hit  milk-wliite  iteed 

He  gwif tijr  rode  «w»y 
Until  he  came  to  hit  aster's  house 

Long,  long  ere  the  break  of  day. 


« 


'Alight,  alight,  young  Johnson,"  she  said, 

"And  take  m  silent  sleep. 
For  you  have  crossed  the  stormy  waters 
Which  are  both  wide  and  deep." 

"I  cannot  ligbt,  I  cannot  light, 

Kor  neither  sleep  can  I. 
For  I  have  killed  the  young  Cdane], 

And  for  it  I  did  fly." 

**Oh  have  you  killed  the  young  Cokmel? 

Oh  woe  be  unto  theel 
Tomorrow's  mom  at  eight  o'clock 

If  s  hangM  you  shall  be." 

"O  hold  your  tongue,  you  cruel  woman, 
^^  O  hold  your  tongue^"  said  he. 
"How  can  I  trust  to  a  strange  lady 
If  I  cannot  trust  to  theef ' 

He's  mounted  on  his  nhnble  steed. 

And  swiftly  nxfe  away 
Until  he  came  to  his  own  true  love's 

Long,  long  ere  the  break  of  day. 

"Alight,  alight,  young  Johnson,"  she  said, 

"And  take  a  silent  sleep. 
For  you  have  crossed  the  stoimy  waters 

Which  are  both  wide  and  deep." 

isi 


M 


i     I  - 


TlBm  Qusr  or  TBI  Ballad 
"I  ctti't  aligfat,  I  caimofc  ftop» 

Nor  neither  ileep  can  L 
For  I  ham  killed  the  young  Colonel 

And  for  it  I  must  fly.*' 

"Oh  hare  you  killed  my  brother?"  ahe  said, 
"Oh  what  shall  now  be  done? 

But  come  into  my  chamber, 
I'll  secure  you  from  all  harm." 

She's  lockM  up  his  hawks. 
And  she's  lockid  up  his  hounds. 

And  she's  lockM  by  the  nimble  steed 
That  bore  him  from  the  ground. 

She's  lockM  one,  she's  lockM  two. 
She's  lockM  three  or  f  mir. 

And  then  she  stood  for  his  life  guard 
Behind  the  empty  door. 

On  looking  east  and  looking  west 

She  happened  for  to  see 
Four  and  twenty  of  the  King's  Life-Guards 

Come  riding  menity. 

**^u^  ^**"  ^  5^**™*f  Johnsonr  they  said, 

"Or  did  he  pass  by  this  way? 
For  he  has  killed  the  young  Colonel, 

And  for  it  he  did  fly." 

"What  color  was  his  hawk?"  she  said, 
"And  what  color  was  his  hound? 

And  what  color  was  the  nimble  steed 
That  bore  him  from  the  groundr 


And  a  light  grey  wMhii  hound 
And  ft  nulk-wfaite  wai  the  nimble  fteed 

Thftt  bore  him  from  the  ground." 

"Then  ride  ftwfty,  O  ride  ftway. 
And  quickty  ride,  I  prmy. 

Or  I  fear  he'll  be  out  of  London  town 
A-oog.  long  ere  the  dawn  of  d«y." 

She  went  into  his  chamber 

For  to  tell  him  what  «he  had  done. 
And  he  ha«  pierced  his  lovely  dear 
That  ne'er  did  him  any  wrong. 

Young  Johnson,  being  in  a  silent  sleep. 

And  dreaming  they  were  near. 

He  has  drawn  his  bright  broad  swoid 
And  pierced  his  lovely  dear. 

*m»t  cause  for  this,  dear  Johnson?"  she  said. 

O  what  is  this  you've  done?  ^^ 

For  you  have  pierced  your  dearest  dear 

That  ne  er  did  you  any  wrong." 

"O  can  you  live?   OcanyouUve? 
Can  you  hve  but  one  single  half-hour? 

And  aU  the  doctors  in  London  town 
ohall  be  within  your  bower." 

"I  cannot  live.    I  cannot  live. 
O  how  cm  I  live?"  said  she. 

Come  tncUing  down  from  my  knee? 
iflt 


i» 


It 


.1 


■I 


I 


Ilf 


ThX  QuxBT  OV  the  Baitat. 

"O  ride  «w»y,  you  ride  •way. 

And  quickfy  get  over  the  plain. 
And  never  let  it  once  enter  your  mind 

That  your  own  true  love  you've  alain." 

Several  other  vernon-  of  the  old  traditional  ballads  I 
have  heard  of.  or  myself  have  heard  in  the  days  when  I 

was  still  privileged  to  sit  in  the  bodUy  presence  of  old  Ned 
Langdle.    I  have  not  ceased  to  cherish  the  hope  that  I 

may  yet  extort  from  some  crafty  singer  the  admission  that 
he  knows  "a  line  or  two"  of  "James  Harris"  or  of  '"Bo- 
Icnder  Martin,"  but  so  far  I  have  had  to  content  myself 
^th  the  certain  but  unsatisfying  knowledge  that  both  of 
tiiese  ballads  were  once  current  in  the  northern  part  of 
NovaScotia.  One  other  ballad  of  centuiy^ld  traditional 
character  I  have  obtained,  and  with  its  presentation  I  shaU 
mcontinently  conclude  this  drawn-out  chapter.  It  is  a 
version,  corrupted  by  "elegant"  additions  from  the  eigh- 
^th  century,  of  the  baUad  of  "Fair  Margaret  and  Sweet 
WUham,  and  It  was  copied  down  for  me  by  one  of  my 
coUege  friends  from  a  recitation  by  his  mother. 

As  Margaret  was  in  her  pretty  bouree 

A-combing  her  locks  so  fair, 
She  saw  the  rich  wedding  of  William  go  by 

Which  struck  her  to  the  heart 

"O  mother,  come  quickly,  come  bind  up  my 
head, 

O  sister,  come  make  up  my  bed. 
For  I  have  a  pain  that  lies  at  my  heart 

That  wiU  bring  me  to  my  grave." 


lU 


GXKUim  AMTIQTTIi 

Her  mother  fhe  quiddy  came  bound  up  her 
head. 

Her  aster  ihe  made  up  her  bed. 
And  the  had  a  pain  that  lay  at  her  heart 

That  brought  her  to  her  grave. 

In  the  middle  of  the  njgfat,  about  twelve  o'clock. 

All  people  in  bed  and  asleep, 
The  ghost  of  Maigaret  rose  up  again. 

And  stood  at  William's  bed  feet 

'*?.'°^  *>  you  like  your  pillowr  she  said, 
"And  how  do  you  like  your  sleep? 

And  how  do  you  like  your  widow  lady 
That  sleeps  in  your  arms  so  sweet?" 

"WeU  do  I  like  my  piUow,"  he  said, 

"And  well  do  I  like  my  sleep. 
But  ten  thousand  times  better  do  I  like  the 
ghost 

That  stands  at  my  bed  feet." 

Then  William  he  quickly  jumped  up  out  of 
bed. 

And  ran  to  Margatet's  halL 
There's  none  so  ready  as  Bfargaret's  mother 
To  answer  William's  night  calL 

"Is  Maigaret  in  her  pretty  bouzee, 

Or  is  she  in  the  haUr 
"She  is  laid  out  in  a  kmg  white  robe 

With  her  lips  as  cold  as  clay." 


w- 


»  u 


IfU 


m 


1 1 


W 


W: ' 


Tbm  Quan  or  tbm  B^iuud 

He  kwacd  her  three  tiiiiei  o'er. 
He  made  an  oath,  a  Mlemn  oath, 
And  never  kiiied  woman  more. 

Mai^garet  died  on  one  good  day. 

And  William  died  on  the  moirow. 
M«8«^died  with  a  heart  fuU  of  love. 

And  William  died  for  ioiTOw. 

Mwgaret  was  buried  at  the  chancel  aate. 
And  William  wa.  buried  at  the  choir. 

Out  of  Wilham'a  there  grew  a  sweet  briar. 

Till  they  could  grow  no  higher, 

Th^  twined  together  in  a  true  lovers' knot, 
ihe  rose  wrapped  around  the  sweet  briar 


1r^  1 


'  '  '.  >  u 


t    ! 


IS6 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

Trm  ov  CumMT  Ballam 
I  ihould  now  ]ike  to  pment «  Mrt  of  noA  omnmeft. 
toon  of  tlie  btlkdi  which  I  hare  gskheied  fhm  time  to 
toe Md fai yariouf  part. of  Not.  ScotiiL  Nodmaiilcii- 
«on.  to  be  lure,  couM  be  ooodrtait  or  induare.  SoDie 
«»^  range  thenueheg  in  groape  and  othen  remain 
"»jj«ly  2^  pref ening  the  diitmction  ^ 
indmdudity  or  eccentricity.  And  even  where  ^mTaw 
^^;;'^'^  o'  the  grouping  i.  .ometime.  5^ooe 

tod.  icmiebmei  of  another,  eo  that  it  i.  impoedble  to  build 
up  •  daenilcatian  on  any  dngte  or  coodrtent  bad..   But 
m  d«cu«ng  ballad.,  a.  in  di.cu«ing  men,  one  may  g^ 
■omething  by  generaKaing  and  l^  dting  typksal^  «^ 
town  yanou.  gnmp.,  even  though  one'.  diMunioo  dirald 

be  M  inoMwequential  a.  to  pa«  fhan  ghort  ballad,  to  bai- 
led, with  a  refrain  and  from  thence  to  ballad.  compoMd  in 
Amcnca.  My  chief  object  in  thu.  generaliaing  i.  toM. 
eate  roi^  the  main  varietie.  of  ballad,  that  are  now 
cunrent,  mnce  my  own  collection  i.  fairly  typicai 

Fmrt  m  importance  are  midi  veruons  of  the  genuine 
dd  popular  baHad.  a.  I  have  pre«rted  in  the  lart  STpter. 
These  are  now  of  the  greatert  rarity  in  any  dirtrict,  and 
are  more  precious  than  jcweU  and  gold.  Many  of  the 
ve^  finest  exMnplcs  of  the  old  stock  were  in  the  pottCMon 
of  the  ^ty  settlers  «m  the  north  diore  of  Nova  ScotiTaS 
some  of  them,  as  we  have  seen,  wee  passed  dowTfrom 
father  to  son  even  unto  the  generation  which  is  now  dis- 

117 


■^i 


Ill 


m 


I 

I-    I 


tM  '     .If 


Th»  Qum*  (»  THx  Bazxad 
toigidilied  by  the  witber-d  cbeek  ind  tin  ibuiliqg  omit 
Farther  thw  tlu,  they  h=,ve  tbomu  no  dispontioD  to  ad- 
▼«ee;  «d  I  regard  myself  with  »  glow  «f  ooB^l»ceiicy 
wbalr^that,!/ Ihttlnotpiayeti  tin  knigbl-etwiit 
to  ^  mck  of  tune,  many  of  thciu.  m  Biatten  of  Nor* 
Scotia  traditioo.  would  now  be  rating  in  the  muet  gnr 

^*^^1!^''^  Ontheothcrh«id.it'the 
mournful  n^ection  th^t  if  I  had  tarted  ^it  eaa  er  I 
■houW  haire  procured  more  Thr  ..iditioo  -rf  ^  one 
year  rt  the  begaming  <rf  my  work  woidd  hfe  put  tr  in 
poamantm  of  the  (Complete  fto«>k  of  L  ttk  >  d  L*f  4Je. 
But  that  way  madness  lies.    N    more  of  thai 

Since  I  have  pretty  thn  tmgiily  disc  wed    b>  *      4er 
bailadsImaynowprfMjeeukaeiusely  t    ted,    lequally 
arbitrary  divisioii.    S.   etmi  bi^a^is  of  a  u  och  h  eriene^ 
ation  are  composed  u  ¥»n  ol»'  tr*  litin     I  themes.    A  few 
suA  I  have  oollected  m  Nova  Seoti       Tn  one  or  two  of 
them  the  resembhyice  to  oMer  baHad   is  so  dose  as  to  be. 
^etty  obviously,  th«  resf^ywice  between  child  and  par- 
ent; m  others  the  jumUar    -  may  ht      erely  acddentaL  if 
one  can  ever  can  accidental  the     .     m,-^  of  a  motive 
which  has  a  profound  and  perrna«I  ,ppe  I  for  men.    A 
compansoi)   rietwem  these  balkd   and  their  prototypes 
yield    only    ne  ^reneral    Mclumm.  ballads  are  like  wine, 
andt    '  old  is  I  ettertlMD  tie  new. 

Bt  alln.  ine  not  Hke  bad.  and  I  have  in  my  col- 
lectMHi  one  .oug,  "1  ,e  St=a^«ptain."  which  is  not  un- 
worny  to  be  lac^d  l«ide  i*  mellow  forefather  baUad. 
"The  Broom&ld  i  ill.  -itse.  a  v^r^ion  of  a  theme  eom- 
n»u  in  rom«ice,  aie.  and  leg  „  aiid  ahnost  as  old  and 
as  ^G  jH«Mi  as  the  earth  we  tread  on.  The  theme  is  that 
of  the    laiden  ^  ho  is  lured  into  the  power  of  a  lover,  but 

I9t 


Trm  or  Cumsrr  Ballam 

who  ezerdaet  her  nimble  witi  to  lueh  good  effect— Mine- 
times  employing  magic  and  tometimea  hiUiug  the  wooer 
to  ileep-that  ahe  ia  presently  enaUed  to  eaeape  imaullied 
and  irnhhiTued    This  theme  ia  thua  treated  in  "The  Sea- 

Captain,"  a  ballad  as  bright  and  attraotire  aa  the  leaouioe- 
ful  maiden  herself: 

It  was  of  a  sea  captain  that  f  dlowed  the  sea. 
Let  the  winds  blow  high  or  blow  low  O. 

**!  shaU  die,  I  shall  die/'  the  sea  captain  did  cry. 
''If  I  don't  get  that  maid  on  the  shore  O." 

This  captain  had  jewels,  this  captain  had  gold. 

This  captain  had  costly  a  ware  O. 
And  all  he  would  give  to  this  pretty  fair  maid 

If  she'd  please  take  a  aail  from  the  shore  O. 

With  great  persuasions  they  got  her  on  board. 

The  weather  being  fine  and  dear  O. 
She  sang  so  sweet,  so  neat  and  ccnnplete, 

Ihat  she  sang  all  the  seamen  to  sleep  O. 
She  took  aU  his  jewels,  she  took  all  his  gold. 

She  took  all  his  costly  a  ware  O. 
She  took  his  broad  sword  to  make  her  an  oar. 

And  she  paddled  her  way  to  the  shore  O. 

"O  were  my  moi  mad  or  were  my  men  drunk. 

Or  were  my  men  deep  in  despur  O, 
To  let  her  away  with  her  beauty  so  gay. 

To  roam  aU  alone  on  the  shore  O," 


"Your  men  were  not  mad,  your 
Your  men  were  not  deep  in 

I  deluded  your  men  as  well 
I'm  a  maid  again  on  tlw  h. 


""not  ^r 


1 
1.1 


IS9 


m 


ThZ  Quzbt  07  THE  BaLLAD 

The  Other  ballad  which  I  ahaU  select  from  thia  daw  hM 
little  to  recommend  it  beyond  its  fine  adaptability  as  an 

iUustration  of  the  rule  that  the  old  is  better.  Inaprevious 
Aapter  I  have  presented  the  Nova  Scotia  version  of 
Ijoid  Bateman,"  which,  by  merns  of  a  simple  and  ap- 
parently unimpassioned  narrative,  first  moves  us  to  love 
and  sympathy  for  the  enamoured  Turkish  maiden,  then 
harrows  us  with  suspense  for  the  outcome  of  her  piteous 
attempts  to  find  her  lover,  and  finally  enables  us  to  throw 
up  our  hats  rejoicing  that  she  wiU  never  again  have  to 
sail  the  seas  east  and  west  "The  Turkish  Lady,"  a  more 
modem  baUad  which  apparently  takes  its  starting-point 
from  "Lord  Bateman,"  makes  repeated  rhetorical  attempts 
to  enlist  our  sympathy  and  admiration,  but  succeeds  only 

m  persuadmg  us  that  the  youD- man  is  a  prig  who  would 
not  have  deserved  his  good  fortune  but  for  the  fact  that  a 
substantial  part  of  the  fortune  is  a  mere  love-ridden  and 
vaallatmg  lady  whom  he  has  met  in  Turkey.    The  ballad, 

to  be  sure,  would  be  weU  enough  if  it  did  not  challenge  the 
fatal  comparison  with  a  much  better  one,— which  wiU  bo 
more  evident,  perhaps,  if  I  pennit  it  now  to  speak  for 
itself:  ■^ 


Young  virgins  all,  I  pray  draw  near. 
A  pretty  story  you  shall  hear. 
'Twas  of  a  Turkish  lady  brave 
That  fell  in  love  with  an  English  slave. 

A  merchant  ship  at  Bristol  lay 
As  we  were  sailing  o'er  the  sea. 
By  a  Turkish  slaver  took  were  we. 
And  all  of  us  made  slaves  to  be. 


IM 


Types  of  Cusbent  Ballads 

They  bound  us  down  in  irons  strong. 
They  whipped  and  lashed  us  all  along. 
No  tongue  could  tell,  I'm  certam  sure, 
What  we  poor  seamen  could  endure. 

Come  set  you  down  and  listen  a  while. 
And  hear  how  fortune  did  on  me  smile. 
It  was  my  fortune  for  to  be 
A  slave  unto  a  rich  lady. 

She  dressed  herself  in  rich  array. 
And  went  to  view  her  skves  one  day. 
Hearing  the  moan  the  young  man  made. 
She  went  to  him  and  thus  she  said: 

"What  countryman,  young  man,  are  you?" 
"An  EngKshman,  and  that  is  true." 
"I  wish  you  were  some  Turk,"  said  she, 
"I  would  ease  you  of  your  misery. 
"I'll  ease  you  of  your  slavish  work 
If  you'll  consent  and  turn  a  Turk. 
I'll  own  myself  to  be  your  wife. 
For  I  do  love  you  as  my  life." 

"No,  no,"  then  said  he, 
"Your  conscience  slave,  madam.  111  be.* 
I'd  sooner  be  burnt  at  a  stake 
Before  that  I'd  my  Gkxi  forsake." 
This  lady  to  her  chamber  wait 
And  spent  her  night  in  discontent. 
Little  Cupid  with  his  piercing  dart 
Did  deeply  wound  her  to  the  heart 

•  The  lint  two  lines  of  the  ttaim  ue.  it  l«  wuml* »«  __,_. 

ISl 


L 


'4 


■  a 


hi 


^ 


\i  \  ^  li 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

She  was  resoIvM  >;he  next  day 
To  ease  him  of  his  slavery. 
And  own  herself  to  be  his  wife. 
For  she  did  love  him  as  her  life. 

She  dressed  herself  in  rich  array, 
And  with  the  yomig  man  sailed  away. 
Unto  her  parents  she  bade  adieu. 
By  this  you  see  what  love  can  do. 

A  very  large  and  important  division  of  the  ballads  now 
current  is  the  one  presenting  variations  of  the  following 
motive:  A  traveller,  newly  arrived  in  the  country,  ap- 
proaches a  maiden,  and,  with  apparently  indecent  haste, 
makes  proposals  for  her  hand.  The  maidm  rejects  him 
with  scorn,  remarking  that  she  has,  in  some  foreign  land 
or  out  upon  the  seas,  a  lover  to  whom  she  wiU  remain 
faithful  until  he  comes  to  claim  her.  The  stranger  makes 
repeated  and  unsuccessful  attempts  to  shake  her  faith  in 
the  absent  one,  but  at  last  produces  half  of  a  gold  ring, 
proving  that  he  himself  is  the  long-absent  lover,  who,  years 
before,  divided  a  ring  with  this  identical  maiden  in  token 
of  betrothal.  Just  why  the  returned  lover  should  thus 
prolong  the  delicious  moment  of  recognition  is  not  always 
clear.  From  his  point  of  view  the  conversation  may  be 
simply  a  revelling  in  the  joys  of  artificial  suspense,  or  a 
somewhat  dubious  method  of  breaking  the  news  of  his  re- 
turn. It  always,  however,  produces  the  same  constant  ef- 
fect upon  the  ballad-singer's  audience,  which  is  trans- 
ported with  admiratir  .  o^  the  unwavering  fidelity  of  the 
maiden  to  her  plighte<^  ■  r     h. 

A  fair  example  of  i  i  class  is  the  following  untitled 
baUad: 

132 


It"  fi 


Types  of  Cubbemt  Ballads 

As  a  maid  was  walking  in  her  garden 

A  single  sailor  came  riding  by. 
He  stepped  up  to  her,  he  thought  he  knew  her. 

He  said,  "Fair  maid,  can  you  fancy  I?" 

"You  appear  to  me  like  some  man  of  honor. 
Like  some  noble  lord  you  appear  to  me. 

How  can  you  impose  on  a  poor  young  creature 
Who  is  not  fitted  your  servant  to  be?" 

"If  you're  not  fitted  to  be  my  servant, 
^  I  have  some  great  reward  for  thee. 
I'll  marry  you,  I'll  make  you  my  lady. 
And  I'll  have  servants  to  wait  on  thee." 

"I  nave  a  true  love  all  of  my  own,  sir. 
And  it's  seven  long  years  he's  been  to  sea. 

And  it's  seven  long  years  I'll  wait  upon  him. 
If  he's  alive  he'll  return  to  me." 

"How  can  you  fancy  a  roving  sailor? 

How  can  you  fancy  such  a  slave? 
He  may  be  dead  in  some  foreign  country. 

Or  else  the  ocean  has  proved  his  grave." 

"If  he's  alive  I'll  hope  to  see  him. 
And  if  he's  dead  I  hope  he's  blest ; 

'Tis  for  his  si^e  I'll  never  marry. 
For  he's  the  one  that  I  love  best." 

"Such  a  girl  as  you  I  do  admire. 

Such  a  girl  as  you  to  be  my  bride. 
You  shaU  have  gold  and  silver  plenty. 

And  treasures  flowing  on  every  side." 

iss 


tMm 


J   / 


I  • , 


I 


fl 


i ' ) 


t' 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

"O  what  care  I  for  your  gold  and  silver? 
O  what  care  I  for  your  birth  and  land? 

0  what  care  I  for  your  old  maid-servant 
If  my  own  sailor  returns  to  me?" 

He  slipped  his  hand  into  his  pocket. 

His  fingers  were  both  slim  and  smaU. 
He  pulled  out  a  ring  that  was  broken  between  them. 

Soon  as  she  seen  it  she  down  did  fall. 

He  picked  her  up  into  his  arms, 
And  kisses  he  gave  her,  one,  two  by  three. 

Saying,  "I  am  yoiu*  young  and  your  single  sailor. 
I've  just  returned  to  marry  thee." 

"If  you're  my  true  and  my  single  sailor 

Your  shape  and  color  do  not  agree. 
But  seven  years  makes  a  great  alteration. 

And  sure  there's  seven  since  I  did  you  see.** 

To  church  they  went  and  they  both  got  married 
With  their  two  hearts  full  of  love  and  content. 

He  stays  at  home  and  takes  his  ease, 
And  he  goes  no  more  on  the  raging  seas. 

1  have  collected,  at  various  times,  about  a  score  of  bal- 
lads of  this  class,  and  each  one  presents  a  slightly  varied 
form  of  the  animating  motive.  Scnnetimes  the  lover  has 
been  at  sea,  sometimes  in  the  anny,  sometimes  in  foreign 
lands  carving  out  his  fortunes,  and  in  one  case  he  has  been 
through  the  Napoleonic  wars  and  has  just  returned  from 
the  Battle  of  Waterloo.  The  arguments  by  which  he  tests 
the  faith  of  the  maiden  are  also  varied.  In  the  ballad  just 
presented  he  merely  resorts  to  the  conjecture  that  the  ab- 


Ttfes  of  Cubsent  Ballads 

sent  lover  is  dead  or  unfaithful;  but  often  he  goes  a  step 
further  and  a£Bnns  that  he  knew  the  lover,  and  either  wit- 
nessed his  death  or  else  beheld  him  revelling  in  the  charms 
of  a  new  mistress.  Usually,  also,  an  attempt  is  made  to 
impart  an  air  of  verisiinilitude  to  the  situation  by  provid- 
ing some  sort  of  natural  disguise  for  the  returned  lover, 
since  he  could  hardly  expect  to  confront  his  old  sweetheart 
in  broad  daylight  and  in  the  same  figure  in  which  he  had 
formerly  associated  with  her.  Sometimes  he  speaks  from 
behind  the  mask  of  nig^t,  and  sometimes,  as  in  the  ballad 
just  given,  he  has  grown  stouter  and  browner  during  the 
intervening  years.  Under  cover  of  one  of  these  disguises 
he  confidently  pursues  his  conversation  with  the  sorely 
tried  maiden,  who  f  requoitly  weeps,  and  Munetimes  f  ainti^ 
but  who  remains  steh-.  ast  in  the  face  of  every  inducement 
to  do  otherwise,  and  in  the  end  is  always  rewarded  by  see- 
ing the  apparent  stranger  transformed  into  the  actual 
lover. 

Another  very  prevalent  motive,  in  the  ballads  which  I 
have  met,  is  that  of  the  maiden  who  wishes  to  clothe  her- 
self in  men's  attire  and  accompany  her  lover  to  sea  or  to 
the  wars.  In  some  cases  the  ballad  is  taken  up  with  the 
arguments  of  the  two  lovers  on  this  topic,  and  in  others  the 
maidoi  allows  her  sweetheart  to  go  on  his  way,  then  quietly 
dons  her  masculine  disguise  and  follows  him.  The  sample 
which  I  shall  now  present  is  of  the  argumentative  sort: 

'Twas  in  one  summer  season,  the  twentieth  of  May, 
We  hoisted  our  English  colors  and  we  did  make  for  sea. 
The  sun  did  shine  most  glorious.    To  Lisbon  we  were 
bound. 

The  hiUs  and  dales  were  covered  with  pretty  maids  all 
round. 


i^'i 


w 


M  ' 


Hi/ 


El. 


Ths  Quest  of  ths  Ballad 
I  spied  a  handsome  sailor  just  in  his  blooming  yean 

Just  coming  to  his  true  love  to  let  her  understand 
That  he  was  going  to  leave  her  and  sail  for  some  foreiim 
land.  *^ 

"The  King  has  wrote  for  seamen,  and  I  for  one  must  go. 
And  for  my  very  life,  my  love,  I  dare  not  answer  no." 
"Oh  stay  at  home,  dear  Willie,  and  I  wiD  be  your  wife, 
For  the  parting  with  you,  Willie,  is  the  parting  of  my 

"But  if  I  was  to  stay  at  home  another  would  take  my  place. 
And  that  would  be  a  shame  for  me,  likewise  a  sad  dis- 
grace." 

"My  yellow  hair  I  will  cut  off,  men's  clothing  I'U  put  on. 
1 11  be  thy  body-servant,  likewise  thy  waiting-man." 

"Thy  waist  it  is  too  slender,  love,  thy  fingers  are  too  smaO 
To  wait  on  me  in  battle  where  many  a  man  does  fall. 
Where  cannon  they  do  rattle  and  bullets  they  do  fly. 
And  sUver  trumpets  they  do  sound  to  drown  the  dismal 
cries." 

"My  yeUow  hair  I  wiD  cut  off,  men's  clothing  I'U  put  on. 
No  storms  or  dangers  do  I  fear,  let  the  winds  blow  high  or 
low." 

"But  if  I  was  to  meet  some  other  in  sweeter  charms  than 
thee. 

And  she  was  to  please  my  fancy,  what  would  my  Nancy 
say?"  ' 

"What  would  I  say,  dear  Willie?  and  I  would  love  her  too. 

And  I  would  gently  step  aside  whUe  she  would  be  talkinir 

to  you."  ® 

186 


TTl>ii«  OF  CUBXXNT  BillXADS 

"Dear  Nancy,  all  these  words  are  enough  to  break  my 

heart. 
Pray  let  us  then  be  married  before  that  we  depart" 

•Tow  this  young  couple's  married  and  they  sail  o*er  tiie 

main, 
i.  hope  good  luck  may  attend  them  till  they  return  again. 

In  this  ballad  the  lover  and  his  mistress  depart  together 
in  the  guise  of  two  comrades;  but  far  oftener  the  maiden 
is  left  behind  mourning,  and  she  then  adopts  men's  attire 
before  proceeding  alone  to  seek  her  lover.  But  regularly 
in  this  class  of  ballads,  as  in  the  one  previously  discussed, 
the  journeys  end  in  lovers  meeting,— with  one  tragic  ex- 
ception, the  ballad  of  "Willie  Taylor."  In  this  rather 
curious  variation  of  a  well-recognized  ballad  motive  the 
maiden  reaches  tiie  end  of  her  journey  only  to  find  her 
faithless  Williun  in  the  company  of  a  new  mistress,  and 
she  then  promptly  and  ruthlessly  slays  him  amid  the 
plaudits  of  the  bystanders,  and— it  is  worth  noting— with 
the  complete  approval  of  those  who  sing  the  ballad  of  her 
adventures.  The  account  of  this  episode,  which  is  brief 
and  pithy,  is  as  follows: 

Willie  Taylor,  brisk  young  sailor,  courted  by  a  lady  gay, 
A  day  or  two  before  the  marriage  pressed  he  was  and  sent 
away. 

She  dressed  herself  in  men's  attire,  boldly  entered  for 

Jacky  Tar. 
Her  lily-white  hands  and  long  slender  fingers  daubed  they 

were  with  pitch  and  tar. 


187 


ik 


I;'- 


>b 


n  ;  J: 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

When  she  came  to  the  field  of  battie  there  ahe  atood 

amongst  the  rest. 
A  silver  button  flew  off  her  waistcoat,  there  appeared  her 

milk-white  breast 
When  the  captain  saw  this  wonder  he  said.  "What  wind 

has  blown  you  here?" 

"I  am  in  seareh  of  my  true  love  whom  you  pressed  and  I 
love  dear." 

"If  you're  in  search  of  your  true  lover  tell  to  me  your 

true  love's  name." 
••My  true  love's  name  is  Willie  Taylor  whom  you  pressed 

to  the  Isle  of  Man."  F"--*" 

"If  your  true  love  is  William  Taylor  I  find  he  is  a  false 
young  man. 

For  he  is  to  be  married  to-morrow  to  a  lady  of  this  land. 

"If  you  rise  early  in  the  morning,  early  by  the  break  of 
day. 

There  you'U  see  young  WiUie  Taylor  walking  with  his 

lady  gay." 
She  rose  early  in  the  morning,  early  by  the  break  of  day. 
And  there  she  saw  young  WUUe  Taylor  walking  with  his 

lady  gay. 

She  caUed  out  for  a  sword  and  pistol,  sword  and  pistol  at 
her  command, 

And  then  she  shot  young  Willie  Taylor  and  his  bride  at 
his  right  hand. 

T'-^ien  the  captain  saw  this  wonder  he  laughed  loudly  at 
the  fun. 

Saying.  "You  shall  be  captain  and  chief  commander  over 
my  sailors  every  one." 

IS8 


if: 


» »« ■' 


Ttpm  or  CuiuNT  Ballam 

If  Willie  Tsylor  was  m  ooiutaiit  a  lover,  ms  oonstaat  & 

lover  as  he  could  pretoid. 
She  never  would  have  been  so  cruel  as  her  true  bve's  days 

to  end. 

The  districts  where  I  have  found  most  of  my  ballads 
are  (m  or  near  the  sea-coast,  and,  as  mig^  be  expected,  tlM 
collectiim  has  a  very  fair  sprinkling  of  sea  ballads.  Sane 
of  these  are  designed  merely  to  show  the  dangers  and  de- 
lij^ts  of  life  on  the  ocean,  but  most  of  them  are  of  a  more 
sanguinary  nature,  mstinct  with  the  hist  of  battle,  and 
ringing  with  triumph  for  victory  over  the  enemies  of 
Britain.  I  have  three  of  these  whidi  present  varying  ac- 
counts of  the  mighty  single  combat  between  the  Chesa- 
peake and  the  Shannon,  and  each  of  the  three  singers 
f KMn  wfacnn  I  procured  them  gave  me  a  solonn  warning 
not  to  sing  them  "in  the  States,'*  as  the  inevitable  result 
of  such  boldness  would  be  a  thrashmg  at  the  hands  of  the 
enraged  American  audience.  This  advice  I  have  carefully 
observed,  not  from  any  base  fear  of  American  leprisals, 
but  f nun  an  amply  warranted  convicticni  of  my  inability 
to  sing  "in  the  States"  or  in  any  other  country.  But  one 
of  the  three  ballads  I  feel  that  I  can  here  present  with 
complete  safety,  in  any  case,  since  the  only  version  of  it 
that  I  could  find  is  inccunplete,  stopping  short  with  a  be- 
coming delicacy  and  moderation  while  the  victory  still 
hangs  in  the  balance.    The  surviving  portion  runs  tiius: 

'Twf  'f  the  Shannon  frigate 

In  the  merry  mcmth  of  May; 
To  watch  those  bold  Americans 

Off  Boston  light  she  lay. 

1S9 


tfflP  j 


l^ 


'I 


I  ••*  -', 


ik 


.  ! 


i 

I 

mi 


WW 


t^i> 


u :  \ 


11 


The  Qum'  or  the  Ballad 

The  Chesapeake  lying  in  harbor, 

A  frigate  stout  and  fine. 
She  had  four  hundred  and  sixty  men 
on  board. 

And  her  guns  was  forty-nine. 

Captain  Brooke  he  conunanded  us, 

A  challenge  he  did  write 
To  the  captain  of  the  Chesapeake 

To  bring  her  out  to  fight. 

He  says,  "My  noble  Lawrenc«>, 
Don't  think  it's  through  enmity. 

For  it's  to  show  to  all  the  world  . 

That  Britain  rules  the  sea." 

The  challenge  being  accepted, 
The  Chesapeake  she  bore  down. 

And  she  was  as  fine  a  frigate 
As  belonged  to  the  British  crown. 

Yard  arm  and  broadside 

For  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 
When  that  enemy's  ship  drove  up  alongside. 

And  her  yard  got  locked  in  ours. 

At  this  point  the  singer's  memory  flatly  refused  to  work 
and  we  were  compeUed  to  leave  the  two  stout  frigates  with 
yards  locked,  in  a  state  of  perpetual  mortal  combat.  But 
the  «ici«it  bard  who  sang  the  baUad  was  careful  to  warn 
me  that  I  should  not  be  lulled  into  a  false  sense  of  security 
^thiscuxnmistance.  "If  I  was  you."  he  said,  "I  wouldn't 
fay  to  smg  that  one  when  I  go  back  to  the  States.  They 
know  very  well  how  the  Chesapeake  got  licked,  an'  they 

140 


Trm  or  Cwaan  Bjdjjjm 

wou!)in't  thank  ye  fer  puttin'  them  in  mind  of  it— III 
give  ye  one,"  he  ezchumed  pxeaoitly,  after  a  few  minutes 
of  anxious  reflection,  "that  the  Yankeeill  like  better  than 
that  one.  It's  about  their  great  aea-captain  that  was 
named  Paul  Jones." 

The  song  that  f  oUowed  was  a  brief  but  stirring  account 
of  how  Paul  Jones  sailed  from  Baltimore  in  his  frigate, 
"the  Richard  by  name,"  and  how  he  presently  cleared  the 
decks  for  an  engagement  with  two  British  warships  that 
hove  in  view.  The  cowardly  ship's  carpenter  attempted 
to  dissuade  him  by  announcing  that  the  ship  was  leaking 
like  a  basket,  but  the  undaunted  Paul  "in  the  height  of  his 
pride"  made  the  following  answer: 

"If  we  can't  do  no  better  let  her  sink  alongside.'* 

So  they  hove  to  and  went  at  it,  or,  in  the  nobler  language 
of  the  poet,  who  feigns  himsdf  to  have  been  one  of  the 
crew. 

We  f oi^t  them  four  glasses,  four  glasses  so  hot. 
Till  fifty  bold  seamen  lie  dead  on  the  spot. 
And  fifty-five  wounded  and  bleeding  in  gore. 
While  the  thundering  loud  cannons  of  Paul  Jcmes 
did  roar. 

The  end,  of  course,  is  an  unqualified  victory  for  Paul 
J(mes,  who  then  invites  his  brave  foUowers  to  "drink  deep 
f nnn  the  can"  in  honor  of  their  country. 

This  is  the  only  sea-ballad  that  I  have  found  in  iddch 
the  enonies  of  Britain  are  generously  allowed  to  bear 
away  the  victo^.    I  have  acquired  considerable  numbers 

141 


-I 


I'i 


1  'f 

■'It 
i'fi. 


Th«  Qusrr  of  th«  Ballat 
from  Bob  LwigiUe,  Dick  Hinds,  wid  other  lew  proliik 
«ii«er^  but  in  every  other  cue  the  moke  of  battle  cletn 
•wiiy  to  reveal  the  Union  Jack  flaunting  itself  above  the 
high  seas.  Nelson's  victory  at  Trafalgar  is  the  theme  of 
several  rousmg  accounts,  and  some  five  or  six  deal  with 
tte  Government  operations  against  the  pirates.  Two  of 
th«ie  are  narratives  of  the  combat  which  swept  from  the 

Captain  Cooper  gave  orders  on  the  fint  of  Hay 
To  cruise  in  the  Channel  for  our  enemy— 
To  protect  our  commerce  from  that  daring  foe 
And  aU  our  merchant  ships  where  they  would  go. 

Chorus. 
Then  it's  O  Britons,  stand  true. 
Stand  true  to  your  colors,  stand  true. 

It  was  eariy  one  moriilng,  to  the  wind  we  did  Ic 
'The  man  at  the  mast-head  a  saU  he  did  spy. 
A  sail!  O,  a  saU!"  he  loudly  did  cry, 
"She  is  a  large  cutter  and  seems  to  Uy  by." 

Our  noble  commander  he  pulled  out  his  glass. 
So  did  our  lieutenant  to  see  what  she  was. 

Our  captain  stepped  up  and  he  viewed  her  aU  round 
Says.  "That's  KeBy  the  Pirate.  .  il  bet  fifty  pound! 

^on't  you  see  that  villain  ?»  he  cried.  "Make  sail! 
We  11  soon  overtake  him,  my  boys,  I'D  give  bail 
Lay  aloft,  shake  your  reefs  out,  set  everything  dear 
And  up  with  your  helium  and  for  him  well  steer."    ' 

14« 


Trras  (HP  CuisDiT  Ballam 

We  Mukd  till  we  cAme  within  gumhot 
Bold  Kelly  be  seemed  for  to  value  uf  not 
With  a  loud  vokx  like  tbinder  Cooper  did  My, 
"Load  your  ^uns,  lig^t  your  matdwt,  and  Are  awayl" 

We  engaged  with  that  cutter  four  hours  and  more, 
Till  the  blood  from  our  scuppers  like  water  did  pour. 
Vnth  round  and  grape  metal  we  peppered  bis  bull 
Till  down  came  bis  nuBKnmaft,  colors  and  all 

We  towed  him  in  Portsmouth  that  very  same  day. 
And  then  on  to  Newgate  sent  Kelly  away. 
Here's  a  health  to  our  captun  and  officers  toa 
Here's  a  health  to  Stag  frigate  and  all  of  her  crew. 

In  this  ballad  all  tiie  sympathies  are  enlisted  on  the  side 
of  law  and  order,  and  the  luckless  Kelly  the  Pirate  is  sent 
oa  bis  way  to  the  gallows  without  a  nf^  Many  of  the 
Nova  Scotia  ballads  celebrate  the  adventures  of  big^iway- 
men,  and  these,  aa.  the  contrary,  are  always  narrated  from 
the  point  of  view  of  the  sympathker.  Jack  Shepard,  Jack 
Williams,  and  bold  Jade  Donahue  are  the  heroes  of  a 
thrilling  series  of  tales  in  verse.  In  a  previous  chapter  I 
h»ve  presented  tiie  ballad  wbkib  deals  with  the  career  of 
Donahue,  beginning  at  the  time  when  "in  Dublin  city  of 
renown  his  first  breath  ever  he  drew,"  cimducting  him  on 
bis  enforced  journey  to  Australia,  and  leaving  him  <mty  at 
the  omdusion  of  Us  last  gallant  fight  with  the  Sy^ey 
constables,  when 

Nine  rounds  he  fired  and  killed  five  men  before  the  fatal 

baU 
That  pierced  the  heart  of  Donahue  and  caused  him  for  to 

faU. 

14S 


i'' 


If 


III '-  li ' 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 
^e  adventures  of  Jack  Shepard  and  Jack  Williams  are 
narrated  more  bnefly ;  and  equaUy  condensed  accounts  are, 

from  time  to  time  salhed  forth  upon  the  highway  for  sua- 
tenance  or  for  revenge.  Buttheheroof  the  road  who  an^ 
P«»r»  most  frequently  is  Dick  Turpin,  the  notorious  hig£I 
waym«i  who,  m  the  early  part  of  the  eighteenth  cen3 
^rsuaded  so  many  luckless  traveUers  to  Lid  and^h^' 
He  «^  to  have  had  a  peculiar  appeal  for  the  i^JS 

^^^r^'^^  T'"^  ^'«^^  ''^  ^  adventuroiT^ 
aresfaUtoldbythesuperamiuated.  Last  SeptembT^ 
cooked  my  pipe  one  afternoon  with  a  hale  old^X" 
m^in  years  eighty-seven  strong,  who  in  the  intervals  of 

T^«,^rf  Tit  '"^  ^*  P~^  «^"»*«  ot  Dick 
ni^K^i'  f  ""u^??'  ^  '^^'  ^«'«  *"»«•    One  of  the  tZ 

^J*ri  !2?  P**^y  *"**"«*  *°  •»«  ^rth  repeatinir     It  ia 
entitled  "Turpin  and  the  Lawyer":  ^^ 

As  Turpin  was  a  riding  across  the  moor. 
There  he  saw  a  lawyer  riding  on  before. 
Turpm,  riding  up  to  him,  said,  "Are  you  not  afraid 
To  meet  Dick  Turpin,  that  mischievous  blade?" 
Chorus. 
Singing  Eh  ro,  Turpin  I  ro. 

Says  Turpin  to  the  lawyer  for  to  be  cute, 
I  hid  my  money  into  my  boot." 

iTjwi^Ty^'^  '^"^^'  "^*  *^'*  fi»d  mine, 

*  or  I  hid  It  m  the  cape  of  my  coat  behind." 

They  rode  along  together  to  the  foot  of  the  hill 
When  Turpin  bid  the  lawyer  to  stand  still,        ' 

Saying.  "The  cape  of  your  coat  it  must  come  off. 

*  or  my  horse  is  in  want  of  a  new  saddlessloth." 


i 

!        ! 

1 


Types  of  Cubismt  Ballads 

Turpin  robbed  the  lawyer  of  all  his  store. 
He  told  him  to  go  home  and  he  would  get  more. 
"And  the  very  first  town  that  you  come  in. 
You  can  tell  them  you  was  robbed  by  Dick  Turpin." 

The  old  man  who  sang  this  ballad  had  also  had  his  en- 
counters with  representatives  of  the  law,  and  he  had  not 
emerged  from  them  as  happily  as  had  his  l^ro  Dick  Tur- 
pin. At  the  cfHJclusion  of  tiie  song,  therefore,  his  face 
^rleamed  with  a  fury  of  demcmic  satisfaction  as  he  smote 
his  thij^  and  roared,  "That  was  one  time  when  a  lawyer 
left  somethin'  behind  him!" 

"Dick  Turpin  and  the  Lawyer"  belongs  primarily  to 
the  category  of  Highwayman  Bnllads,  where  I  have  placed 
it,  but  it  owes  much  of  its  effectiveness  to  the  execution  of 
a  practical  joke.  This  latter  motive  appears,  also  in  a 
subordinate  capacity,  in  many  other  ballads  and  in  varimis 
categories.  It  appears  regularly,  for  instance,  in  that 
large  group  in  which  the  returned  lover  questions  his 
sweetheart  under  the  guise  of  a  stranger.  But  here  the 
situation  is  profoundly  serious,  and  the  grief  and  distress 
of  the  maiden  are  frequently  so  poignant  as  to  be  almost 
tragic.  The  feeling  aroused  in  the  listener  is  one  of  sus- 
pense and  of  sympathy  for  the  maiden,  and  there  is  never 
the  least  tendency  to  regard  the  trick  with  humorous  ap- 
preciation for  its  own  sake.  In  another  group  of  ballads, 
however,  the  effectiveness  of  the  plot  depends  entirely  upon 
the  planning  and  executing  of  a  practical  joke  by  a  person 
who  is  driven  to  defend  or  to  vindicate  himself,  and  idio  is 
heartily  admired  and  applauded  for  his  cleverness.  Here 
the  sympathy  is  all  with  the  contriver  of  the  joke,  and  the 
listener  may  with  a  free  mind  permit  himself  to  roar  and 

140 


: 


J. 


\ 


m:  r 


The  Qubst  of  the  Ballad 

dap  his  knees  at  the  discomfiture  of  the  victim.  There  is 
the  baUad  of  ZiUah,  who  "on  a  certain  day"  disguises  ^" 
self  as  a  man.  proceeds  to  the  highway  with  a  stout  pair 
of  pistols,  and  compels  her  lover  to  stand  and  deliver  Ws 
watch  and  money.  Here,  however,  intrudes  a  touch  of 
s^tim^t :  the  lover  flatty  refuses  to  give  up  the  diamond 
ruig  which,  m  this  prophetic  reversal  of  the  positions  of 

S^.S  K-^  "^^^"^  *"  *  ^^^''^ '~°» ^'  *™«  love,  the 
pmchbeck  highwayman,  and  the  latter  rides  away  much 

imprewed  by  his  devotion.    There  is  also  the  biiad  of 

the  irate  husband  who  returns  home  with  the  shrewd  sus- 

piaon  that  Bill  the  Weaver  has  been  courting^^e 

andis  now  concealed  in  the  chimney,  and  who  therefore 

proceeds  with  such  enthusiasm  to  make  his  preparations 

Z^^JT^^  ^  *^**  **^"  *"^«  ^^  ^  .biJirterror 
finaUydeades  to  emerge  and  take  his  drubbing.  Butpos- 
ably  tiie  best  example  of  this  class  is  the  ballad  of  "Kate 
and  Her  Horns."  which  teUs  how  the  resourceful  Kate. 
^  the  smiple  expedient  of  scaring  a  young  man  into  fits, 
faansforms  him  from  an  inconstant  lover  into  a  tractaUk 
husband.    This  one  I  should  hke  to  present  in  flllT^ 

You  that  in  merriment  delight. 
Pray  listen  now  to  what  I  write. 
So  shall  you  satisfaction  find. 
Will  cure  a  melancholy  mind. 

A  damsel  sweet  in  Colchester, 

And  there  a  clothier  courted  her 

For  three  months'  space,  both  night  and  day. 

But  yet  the  damsel  stiU  said  nay. 


!«• 


Types  of  Cubsent  Baixaos 

She  said,  "Were  I  to  love  inclined. 
Perhaps  you  soon  might  change  your  mind 
And  court  some  other  damsel  fair, 
For  men  are  false,  I  do  declare." 

He  many  propositions  made. 
And  like  a  royal  lover  said, 
"There's  none  but  you  shall  be  my  wife. 
The  joy  and  comfort  of  my  life." 

At  length  this  maid  gave  her  consent 
To  marry  him,  and  straight  they  went 
Unto  tiieir  parents  then,  and  woe,* 
Both  gave  their  leave  and  liking  too. 

But  see  the  cursM  fruits  of  gold  I 
He  kft  his  royal  love  behind 
With  grief  and  love  encompassed  round. 
Whilst  he  a  greater  fortune  found. 

A  lawyer's  daughter  fair  and  bright, 
Her  parents'  joy  and  whole  delight. 
He  was  resolved  to  make  his  spouse. 
Denying  all  his  former  vows. 

And  when  poor  Kate  she  came  to  hear 
That  she  must  lose  her  «ily  dear 
All  for  the  lawyer's  daughter's  aake. 
Some  sport  of  him  Kate  thought  she'd  make. 

Kate  knew  when  every  night  he  came 
From  his  new  love,  Nancy  by  name, 
Sometimes  at  ten  o'clock  or  mwe. 
Kate  to  a  tanner  wait,  therefore, 

'  Possibly  this  sImbM  read  ■'lor 


147 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

And  borrowed  there  an  old  cowhide 
With  crooked  horns  both  large  and  wide, 
And  whoi  she  wrapped  herself  therein 
Her  new  intrigue  she  did  begin. 

Kate  to  a  l(mesome  field  did  stray. 
At  length  the  clothier  came  that  way. 
And  he  was  sore  ascared  at  her, 
She  looked  so  like  old  Lucifer. 

A  hairy  hide,  horns  on  her  head, 
Which  near  three  feet  asunder  spread. 
With  that  he  saw  a  long  black  taU. 
He  strove  to  run,  but  his  feet  did  fail. 

And  with  a  grum  and  doleful  note, 
She  quickly  seized  him  by  the  throat. 
And  said,  "You'd  leave  poor  Kate,  I  fear. 
And  hold  a  lawyer's  dauj^ter  dear. 

"Now  since  you've  been  so  false  to  her, 
You  perjured  knave  of  Colchester, 
You  shall,  whether  you  will  or  no. 
Into  my  gloomy  regions  go." 

This  voice  did  so  affrighten  him 
He,  kneeling  on  his  trembling  limbs. 
Cried,  "Master  Devil,  spare  me  now. 
And  I'll  perform  my  former  vow. 

"I'll  make  young  Kate  my  lawful  bride." 
"See  that  you  do,"  the  Devil  cried. 
"If  Kate  against  you  doth  c(Hnplain 
Soon  shall  you  hear  from  me  again." 

148 


^9r, 


Types  of  Cubbxnt  Ballads 
It's  home  he  went,  th(N]^  very  late. 

He  little  thought  that  it  was  Kate 
That  put  him  into  such  a  fright 
Therefore  next  day  by  morning  light 

He  went  to  Kate  and  married  her 

For  fear  of  that  old  Lucifer. 

Kate's  friends  and  parents  thought  it  strange 

That  there  was  such  a  sudden  change. 

Kate  never  let  her  parents  know. 
Nor  any  other  friend  or  foe. 
Till  they  a  year  had  married  been. 
She  told  it  at  her  lying-in. 

It  pleased  the  women  to  the  heart 
They  said  she  fairly  played  her  part 
Her  husband  laughed  as  well  as  they. 
It  was  a  joyful  merry  day. 

The  next  category  that  occurs  to  me  is  the  one  including 
ballads  which  present  the  remorseful  confessions  of  crimi- 
nals,—a  sufficiently  abrupt  transition  from  the  merry  bal- 
lads of  the  preceding  class.  In  this  new  cat<^ry  the  first 
person  is  employed  throughout  Sometimes  we  find  the 
narrator  in  prison  for  his  crimes,  but  not  in  immediate 
danger  of  the  extreme  penalty,  so  that  the  preliminary 
explanation  may  assume  some  such  form  as  this: 

Seven  long  years  I  have  laid  in  prison. 

Seven  more  I've  got  to  stay. 
For  knocking  a  man  down  in  the  alley 

And  stealing  his  greenbacks  away. 

149 


ft; 


!!  ■ 


II  >  f 


The  Quxst  or  tbz  Baixad 

But  usually  he  is  facii^  the  impleuant  prospect  of  bdng 
hanged  by  the  neck  until  he  is  dead,  in  which  case  he  most 
lustily  impl(»es  the  L(»d  to  have  mercy  on  his  soul,  and 
most  heartily  abases  hioHelf  during  the  redtal  of  his  mis- 
deeds. 

I  have  one  ballad  of  Nova  Scotia  origin  which  is  a  fine 
example  of  this  da^s.  It  is  the  last  confession  of  Charles 
Augustus  Andersen,  &ae  of  a  group  of  mutineers  who, 
many  years  ago,  were  apprehended  and  sent  to  Halifax  to 
be  hanged— all  of  which  I  shall  rekte  in  fuU  in  another 
chapter.  In  this  ballad  the  unhappy  mutineer  states,  with 
a  lugubrious  mixture  of  boldness  and  c(»trition: 

Charles  Augustus  Andersen  is  my  right  and  proper 

name. 
Since  I  came  to  custody  I  ne'er  doiied  the  same. 
I  came  of  honest  parents  altlbtugh  I  die  in  scorn. 
Believe  me,  now  I  much  lamost  that  ever  I  was  bom. 

Then  he  proceeds  to  reUAe  the  rtory  of  the  mutiny  in  which 
he  was  implicated,  lajni^  heavy  steess  on  his  own  native 
goodness  of  heart  and  an  the  baleful  nature  of  the  ii^u- 
ence  which  was  brought  to  bear  upon  him  through  the 
counsels  of  older  and  wickeder  own.  Chief  of  thne  was 
the  scoundrel  Fielding,  who  is  introduced  in  the  f  oUowii^ 
mournful  stanzas: 

They  shipped  me  on  boiffd  tiie  Saladin,  as  you  will 
understand. 

She  was  bound  for  Valparaiso.  Mackenzie  had  com- 
mand. 

We  arrived  there  in  safety  without  the  least  delay. 

Till  Fielding  came  on  board  of  her.  Curse  on  that 
fatal  day  I 

IM 


Types  of  Cubbknt  Ballads 

'Tw«8  Fielding  who  induced  us  to  do  that  horrid  crime. 
We  might  have  prevented  it  if  we  had  thought  in  time. 
We  shed  the  blood  of  innocents.   The  same  I  don't  deny. 
We  stained  our  hands  in  human  blood,  for  which  we 
have  to  die. 

Charles  Augustus  eondudes  his  recital;  then  follow  two 
stanzas  describing  with  mingled  grief  and  admiration  thf 
scene  which  put  a  period  to  this  blighted  caietf.  "With 
his  own  hand,"  exclaims  the  poet, 

With  his  own  hand  he  greased  the  cord  that  cut  the 
thread  of  life. 

An  even  finer  example  of  this  class  is  "The  Flying 
Cloud."  This  ballad  narrates  at  great  length  the  history 
of  another  possessor  of  the  sinister  name  of  Anderson, 
who  is,  iwwever,  related  to  Charles  Augustus  only  in  his 
uiifortunate  and  entirely  innocent  predilection  for  being 
decoyed  into  the  paths  of  crime.  This  victim  of  evil  and 
designing  companions  is  allowed  to  appropriate  the  ballad 
from  beginning  to  end,  and  we  are  left  to  conclude  for 
ourselves  that  when  his  song  was  ended  he  was  led  out  to 
swing  upon  the  gallows-tree.  He  begins  with  a  cheerful 
confidence  almost  bordering  on  defiance: 

My  name  it  is  Robert  Anderson, 

I'd  have  you  to  understand. 
I  belong  to  the  city  of  Waterford, 

Near  Erin's  happy  land. 

When  I  was  ymmg  and  in  my  prime. 

And  health  did  on  me  smile. 
My  parents  doted  on  me, 

I  being  their  only  duR 


•! 


i  I. 


W' 


)f 


The  Qitxst  of  thx  Ballad 

But  gradually  the  tone  grows  bitter  and  despondent 
Robert  falls  in  with  Captain  Moore,  a  fiend  in  man's  shape 
who  invites  him  to  ship  on  board  his  slave-trader,  "The 
Flying  Cloud."  The  transporUtion  of  slaves,  as  Robert 
unctuously  describes  it,  is  a  tolerably  brutal  employment, 
but  it  is  entirely  too  easy-going  a  life  for  Captain  Moore, 
who  presently  comes  out  with  a  new  suggestion  for  Rob- 
ert and  the  other  innocents  on  board  his  ship: 

"There's  gold  and  silver  to  be  had 

If  you  with  me  ronain. 
Weni  hist  the  lofty  pirate  flag 

And  scour  the  Spanish  Main." 

To  this  of  course  we  all  agreed, 

Excepting  five  young  men, 
And  two  of  them  were  Boston  chaps. 

And  two  from  Newfoundland. 

The  other  was  an  Irishman 

Bel(mging  to  Trimore. 
I  wish  to  God  I  had  joined  those  men 

And  went  with  them  on  shore. 

We  robbed  and  plimdered  manys  a  ship 

Down  on  the  Spanish  Main, 
Caused  many  a  widow  and  orphan  child 

In  sorrow  to  remain. 

Their  crews  we  made  them  walk  the  plank. 

Caused  than  a  watery  grave. 
For  the  saying  of  our  captain  was 

That  a  dead  man  tells  no  tales. 


iss 


At  last  a  gloomy  day  dawna  upon  The  Flymg  Cloud 
She  is  overtaken  and  captured  by  a  Spanish  man^'war, 
her  captain  is  killed,  and  her  crew  sent  to  Newgate  to  bide 
the  journey  to  the  gallows-tree.  As  we  take  mtr  leave  of 
poor  misguided  Robert  he  is  awaiting  the  summons  and 
bittorly  cursing  the  evil  influences  that  have  conspired  tc* 
bring  him  to  this  sorry  pass: 

'Tis  drinking  and  bad  company 

That  made  a  wretch  of  me. 
Come  all  young  men,  think  of  my  downfall, 

And  curse  to  the  pirate  sea. 

It  is  an  easy  transition  fi  or<i  th<v  "doleiul  matter"  of  the 
Confession  Ballads  to  two  cv  .iy  related  and  equalfy  lu- 
gubrious  motifs  which  I  shall  now  briefly  notice.  These 
are  the  Dream  motif  and  the  Avenging  Ghost  motif.  I 
have,  in  my  time,  run  across  several  examples  of  both  of 
these  melancholy  type^  of  song,  and  they  are  all  *^inr*>  in 
general  character,  that  is,  each  of  them  relates  the  grue- 
some tale  of  a  murder  exposed  through  a  supernatural 
agency.  The  only  difference  is  that  in  one  case  this  agency 
is  a  dream  and  in  the  other  it  is  a  ^bost 

In  the  former  class  we  have  such  ballads  as  "The  Con- 
stant Farmer's  Scm,"  which  was  sung  to  me  by  old  John 
Adamson  in  his  little  garden  one  brij^t  summer  morning 
when  it  seemed  quite  incredible  that  murders  and  murder- 
revealing  dreams  could  ever  find  a  place  in  a  world  so 
peaceful.  Nevertheless,  John  assured  me  that  the  scxig 
was  strictly  true,  and  if  he  had  been,  like  his  companicm, 
a  pedant  and  not  a  jolly  old  ballad-singer,  he  could  h&ve 
caUed  upon  Boccaccio  and  John  Keats  to  conoborate  his 

158 


II! 


Tmk  Quxst  of  the  Ballad 

•tatement  For  "The  Constant  Farmer*!  Son"  ii  a  pop- 
ular ver8i(Hi  of  a  tale  which  was  told  nearly  six  hundred 
years  ago  in  the  Decameron,  and  whidi  was  expanded  by 
Keats  into  the  beautiful  poetic  narrative  of  "Isabella."  It 
is  the  tale  of  the  fair  young  woman  of  gentle  birth  who 
falls  in  love  with  a  young  man  who  is  onployed  cm  her 
father's  estate,  and  who  starts  up  in  bed  one  ni^^t  frmn 
the  dreadful  and  prophetic  vision  of  her  murdered  lover: 

As  Mary  on  her  pillow  lay  she  dreamt  a  shocking  dream. 
She  dreamt  she  saw  her  own  true  love  down  by  a  purling 

stream. 
So  Mary  rose,  put  (m  her  clothes,  to  meet  her  love  did  run, 
In  ycHider  vale  lies  cold  and  pale  her  constant  farmer's  son. 

After  spending  a  nig^t  and  a  day  watching  over  her 
lover's  body  she  returns  hcmie  and  accuses  her  two  broth- 
ers. 

Those  villains  confessed  the  murder,  and  for  the  same  did 

die. 
Young  Mary  she  did  fade  away  but  never  ceased  to  cry. 
Her  parents  they  did  fade  away.   The  glass  of  life  had  run. 
Poor  Mary  sij^ed,  and  then  she  died  for  her  consUmt 

farmer's  son. 


I 


Of  very  much  the  same  sort  is  the  ballad  of  "Young 
Emily,"  or  "Young  Edmund,"  as  it  is  variously  entitled. 
Edmund  is  betrothed  to  Emily  and  then  goes  to  sea  to 
earn  money  for  himself  and  his  sweetheart.  After  seven 
years  he  returns  loaded  with  gold  which  he  triumphantly 
shows  to  Emily,  and  they  plan  that  he  shall  lodge  in- 

1A4 


Trm  ow  CuisBsrr  Ballam 

oognito  at  her  f  atber't  public-home  that  night    But  dur- 
ing the  ni|^t 

Young  Emily  in  her  chamber 

She  dreamt  a  dreadful  dream. 
She  dreamed  ahe  taw  young  Edmund 

Float  in  y(«  eryital  ttraun. 

She  arises  in  the  morning  and  questima  her  father,  iHw 
confesses  the  murder  of  Edmund.  ThoD  she  goes  to  the 
justice  with  her  stoiy,  and  her  father  is  brought  to  trial 

The  jury  found  him  guilty. 

And  hanged  he  was  also 
For  the  murder  of  young  Edmund, 

yf\ui  plowed  the  Lowlands  low. 

Another  Dream  Ballad,  composed  on  a  motif  that  will 
be  recognized  by  everyone  who  reads  his  Bible,  is  "The 
New  York  Trader."  It  differs  from  the  coaventional  bal- 
lads of  the  class  in  that  the  dreamer  is  the  criminal  him- 
self, and  he  reveals  his  guilt  to  a  friend  under  tiie  influ- 
oice  of  the  fear  which  has  beoi  imposed  <m  him  by  the 
dream.  This  one  is  fairly  brief,  and  I  should  like  to  quote 
it  in  full: 

To  a  New  York  trader  I  did  belong. 
She  was  well  built,  both  stout  and  strong. 
Well  rigged,  well  manned,  well  fit  for  sea, 
Boimd  for  New  York  in  America. 

Our  cruel  captain,  you  do  understand. 
Meant  to  starve  us  before  we  made  the  land. 
At  length  our  hunger  grew  very  great. 
We  had  but  little  mi  board  to  eat. 

iss 


MUCROCOPV   RESOIUTION  TEST  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


1 2.8 

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IM 

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^  /APPLIED  IIVMGE     Inc 

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:.^S  '7 '6)    *a2  -  0.J00  ~  Ptione 

^B  (716)   288  -  5989  -  Fa» 


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The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 
Being  in  necessity. 
All  by  our  captain's  cruelty. 
Our  captain  in  the  cabin  lay; 
He  dreamt  a  dream,  those  words  did  say: 

"Prepare  yourselves  and  ship's  company. 
For  tomorrow  night  you  must  lie  with  me.* 
Our  captain  awoke  in  a  terrible  fright, 
It  being  the  first  watch  of  that  night 

Loud  for  the  bos'n  he  did  call. 
And  to  him  related  his  secret  aU. 
"Captain,"  said  he,  "if  this  be  so, 

0  let  none  of  your  ship's  crew  know. 
But  keep  your  secrets  in  your  breast. 
And  pray  to  God  to  give  you  rest." 
"There  is  one  thing  more  I  have  to  telL 
When  I  in  Waterf ord  town  did  dweU 

1  killed  my  master,  a  merchant  there. 
All  for  the  sake  of  his  lady  fair. 

"I  killed  my  wife  and  children  three 
All  through  that  cursM  jealousy. 
And  on  my  servant  laid  the  blame. 
And  hang^  he  was  for  the  same." 
Early  next  morning  a  storm  did  rise, 
Which  caused  the  seamen  much  surprise. 
The  sea  broke  over  us  fore  and  aft 
Till  scarce  a  man  on  the  deck  was  left. 
Then  the  bos'n  he  did  declare 
Our  captain  was  a  murderer. 
That  so  enraged  all  the  ship's  crew. 
They  overboard  their  captain  threw. 

156 


H 


.;>>! 


Types  of  Cukrent  Ballads 

When  this  was  done  a  cahn  was  there. 
Our  good  light  ship  homeward  did  steer. 
The  wind  abated  and  cahned  the  sea, 
And  we  sailed  safe  to  America. 

And  when  we  came  to  anchor  there, 
Our  good  light  ship  for  to  repair. 
The  people  wondered  much  to  see 
What  poor  distressed  shipwreck  were  we. 

The  Avenging  Ghost  motif  operates  in  very  much  the 
same  way.  We  have  had  illustrations  of  it  in  two  of  the 
ballads  which  I  have  had  occasion  to  quote  in  earlier  chap- 
ters, "The  Greenwood  Siding"  and  "The  Gaspard  Trag- 
edy." In  the  former  a  mother  murders  her  twin  babies, 
and  when  she  is  returning  home  from  her  criminal  expe- 
dition she  meets  the  ghosts  of  "two  babes  a  plajing  at 
ball" ;  in  the  latter  William  betrays  and  murders  his  sweet- 
heart and  goes  to  sea,  but  one  night  the  ghost  of  his  mur- 
dered Mary  visits  the  ship,  William  is  convicted  of  sin, 
"and  raving  distracted  he  died  that  same  nij^t."  Another 
good  illustration  is  an  untitled  ballad  narrating  Ihe  shadier 
side  of  the  cureer  of  a  Lothario-like  sailor,  who  opens  the 
ballad  with  a  gay  statement  of  his  own  life  and  habits,  in- 
cluding the  rather  unctuous  confession: 

The  female  sex  I  did  beguile. 
And  two  of  them  I  had  with  child. 

One  of  these  members  of  the  "female  sex"  he  marries, 
and  the  other  he  leaves  to  her  fate,  which  is  suicide.  But 
N«nesis  is  on  his  track,  and  presently  overtakes  him. 


',:!, 


1«7 


r 


4  \    '* 


m 


i  l.pf 


i".i\i 


i  i  i 


t; 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

One  day  as  he  was  sailing  on  the  mainmast  high, 
A  little  boat  he  chanced  to  spy, 

And  in  that  boat  was  a  ghost  so  grim. 

Which  made  him  tremble  in  every  limb. 

It's  to  the  deck  this  yomig  man  goes. 
His  mind  to  the  captain  for  to  disclose. 
"O  captain,  captain,  stand  on  my  defense. 
For  here's  a  spirit  coming  hence." 

It's  on  the  deck  the  captain  goes 
To  help  this  yomig  man  to  face  his  foes. 
"It  is  well  known  I  was  a  maid 
When  first  by  you  I  was  betrayed. 

"You  betrayed  me  once.   I  have  you  now. 
I  am  a  spirit  come  for  you. 
And  now  I've  told  you  my  mournful  song. 
All  you  who  know  where  love  belongs." 

With  great  persuasions  unto  the  boat 
The  young  man  he  was  forced  to  go. 
The  boat  it  sunk  in  a  flame  of  fire. 
Which  made  the  ship's  crew  all  admire. 

I  have  dwelt  long  enough  upon  the  "doleful  matter"  of 
the  various  types  of  Murder  BaUads.  and  must  now  turn 
to  another  arbitrary  and  completely  unrelated  division. 
Many  of  the  later  baUads,  especiaUy  those  of  Irish  origin 
are  characterized  by  the  introductory  formuk  "Come  all 
you"  or  "Come  aU  ye,"  and  are  classed  genericaUy  as 
Come-aU-ye's."  Of  these  I  have  gathered  a  considerable 
number  m  Nova  Scotia.  So  far  as  motive  or  theme  is  con- 
cerned they  show  no  sense  of  restriction,  ranging  the  whole 

IM 


Tyfes  of  Cubbent  Ballads 

gamut  from  stately  themes  of  love  and  war  &mn  to  the 
broad  pleasantries  of  the  music-hall  song. 

The  formula  of  invitation  is  emplc^ed  to  specify  the 
sort  of  audience  that  may  be  counted  on  to  bring  an  intelli> 
gent  and  sympathetic  appreciation  to  the  narrative  that 
follows.  Sometimes  this  potential  audience  extends  all- 
embracingly  to  the  utmost  limits  of  the  world,  as  in  the  fol- 
lowing inclusive  invitation. 

Come  all  you  people,  far  and  near. 

In  other  cases  a  slight  attempt  at  selection  is  made,  as. 

Come  all  ye  men  and  maidens,  and  listen  to  my  song. 
If  you  pay  good  attention  111  not  keep  you  long. 

Or,  as  frequently  happens,  the  doors  are  barred  against 
all  but  the  venerable: 

Come  all  you  aged  people,  I  pray  you  lend  an  ear; 
When  you  hear  my  feeling  story  you  can't  but  shed  a 
tear. 

When  a  "Come-all-yc**  celebrates  an  English  victory 
the  opening  invitatica  is,  naturally,  addressed  to  those  only 
who  could  be  expected  to  fed  a  proper  enthusiasm.  The 
song  of  "The  Battle  of  Ahna"  begins, 

Come  all  you  Britons,  I  pray  give  ear 

To  these  few  lines  I've  brought  you  here. 

The  geographical  or  racial  line  may  be  employed,  also, 
merely  to  serve  notice  on  the  f ellow-countrjmiai  or  neigh- 
bors of  tiie  hero  in  the  action.  The  ballad  of  John  Mor- 
rissey  begins, 

159 


^a    A  ^-^    • 


•  •  >  '  tl 


k'^ 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballam 

Come  all  you  true  Irish  boys,  please  listen  to  me. 
I  will  sing  you  the  praises  of  John  Morrissey. 

The  sea-ballads,  when  they  open  with  an  invitation,  ex- 
tend It,  of  course,  to  sea-faring  men.  The  f oUowing  are 
a  few  examples: 

Come  all  you  jovial  sailors  bold. 

The  trutii  to  you  I  write, 
Consaming  of  the  raging  sea 

Which  is  my  heart's  delight. 

Con*w  all  you  jolly  tarsmen,  come  listen  to  my  song. 
If  you  pay  good  attention  I'll  not  keep  you  long. 

Come  all  >ou  bold  seamen  that  plow  the  rough  main. 
Give  ear  to  my  story.    The  truth  I'll  explain. 

The  distinctions  upon  which  the  above  invitations  rest 
are  all  dear  and  consistent,  but  in  other  cases  it  is  not  aS 
easy  to  understand  the  implied  system  of  selection. 
Charles  Augustus  Andersen,  for  instance,  makes  the  fol- 
lowing subtle  distinction  in  his  choice  of  hearers: 

Come  all  ye  human  countrymen,  with  pity  lend  an  ear. 

"Van  Dieman's  Land,"  which  I  have  presented  in  an 
earlier  chapter,  is  a  ballad  of  the  adventures  and  priva- 
tions of  three  convicts,  and  yet  it  exhibits  the  most  meticu- 
lous care  in  its  selection  of  a  "fit  audience  though  few." 
It  jegms  with  the  mvitation. 

Come  aU  ye  men  of  learning,  and  rambling  boys  beware. 

and  then  proceeds  to  inculcate  a  proper  frame  of  mind  in 
the  learned  listoiers: 

leo 


|l 


Types  of  C  'jbixnt  Ballads 

It's  when  you  go  a  hunting  take  your  dog>  your  gun,  your 
snare. 

Think  on  lofty  hills  and  mountains  that  are  at  your  com- 
mand. 

And  think  of  the  tedious  journey  going  to  Van  Dieman's 
Land. 

An  equally  snobbish  point  of  view  is  adopted  in  the  bal- 
lad of  "Jack  Donahue,"  which  excludes  from  the  circle  of 
listeners  all  but  a  narrow  and  hi^^y  specialized  dass: 

Come  all  you  gallant  bushrangers  and  outlaws  of  disdain 
Who  scorn  to  dwell  in  slavery  and  wear  the  Ixmds  of  chains. 
Attention  pay  to  what  I  say  and  value  it  if  you  do. 
I  will  relate  tibe  matchless  fate  of  bold  Jack  Donahue. 

The  "Come-all-ye's"  are  almost  infinite  in  number  and 
variety,  but  I  have  now  discussed  a  sufficient  number  to 
give  some  idea  of  the  generic  character  indicated  by  the 
designation  which  includes  than  alL  And  here,  I  think, 
my  rude  attempt  at  a  classification  must  end,  since  I  have 
discussed  all  the  traits  which  are  responsible  for  important 
groupings  in  the  ballads  of  my  collection.  It  would  be 
possible,  of  course,  to  proceed  w'ii  a  series  of  narrower 
groups,  but  many  of  the  ballads  here  would  have  to  be  in- 
cluded also  in  some  of  the  division?  already  given.  And 
there  would  stiU  remain  a  list  of  English  and  Scottish  bal- 
lads on  such  a  varied  list  of  topics  that  to  do  them  justice 
I  should  have  to  discuss  each  of  them  in  turn.  The  one 
th^t  I  shall  now  cite,  in  order  to  drive  home  a  last  impres- 
sion of  the  difficulty  Ox  categoriasing,  is  only  a  trifle  more 
individual  in  its  character  tlum  many  others  which  I  have 
had  to  leave  unrepvesoited. 

161 


I'] 


ir 


m 


HI 


^4? 


'  1 


I 


i  i 


'■V 


I         I 


The  Qxtxst  or  the  Bjillad 

0  can  you  love  little,  O  can  you  love  long? 

Can  you  love  an  old  sweetheart  till  the  new  comes  on? 
Can  you  tell  them  you  love  them  their  minds  for  to  ease? 
And  when  their  backs  is  turned  to  you,  you  can  do  as  you 
please. 

Yes,  I  can  love  little,  I  can  love  long. 

1  can  love  an  old  sweetheart  till  the  new  comes  on. 
I  can  tell  them  I  love  them  their  minds  for  to  ease. 
And  when  their  backs  is  turned  to  me,  I  can  do  as  I  please. 
As  I  was  a  walking  one  morning  in  spring 

To  hear  the  birds  whistle  and  the  nightingales  sing 
I  saw  a  pretty  fair  maid.    She's  the  one  I  adore. 
I'll  be  her  own  true  love  on  the  New  River  Shore. 
It's  when  my  love's  parents  they  came  for  to  hear, 
They  pressed  me  away  from  my  dearest  dear. 
They  sent  me  away  where  loud  cannons  did  roar, 
And  left  her  lamenting  on  the  New  River  Shore. 

It  was  three  months  after  a  letter  she  sent 

• 

Come  back,  my  dearest  Jimmie,  you're  the  kd  I  adore. 

And  straight  I'll  go  with  you  from  the  New  River  Shore. 

I  picked  up  my  broadsword.    It  glittered  all  round. 
A  short  time  after  laid  seven  to  the  ground. 
Some  bleeding,  some  dying,  some  wounded  full  sore, 
I  gained  my  own  true  love  on  the  New  River  Shore. 

O  hard  is  the  fate  of  all  women  kind. 
They're  always  controUed,  they're  always  confined. 
Controlled  by  their  parents  until  they're  married  wives. 
Then  slaves  to  their  husbands  all  the  rest  of  their  lives. 

168 


;.'^l' 


Tm  or  CuBUNT  Ballads 

In  th^  opening  stanzas  of  this  Tenstile  ballad  we  get  the 
sinister  suggestion  that  some  forlorn  maid  is  about  to  be 
kft  mourning  the  recreancy  of  her  gay  and  faithless  lover; 
andif  this  were  the  case  we  could  place  it,  along  with  "the 
Butcher  Boy,"  and  a  few  others,  under  some  such  heading 
as  Ballads  of  Forsaken  Maids.    But  next  we  proceed  to 
the  forced  separation  of  two  lovers  and  then  to  their  happy 
reunion  at  the  apparently  trifling  expense  of  a  few  skin 
and  wounded  comrades— or  enemies.   This  furnishes  noth- 
ing more  definite  than  the  heading.  Separation  and  Re- 
union of  Lovers.    And  finally  we  take  leave  of  the  situa- 
tion, whatever  it  may  be,  with  a  last  haunting  reflection 
V-  u  the  miseries  ot  oppressed  maidens,  and  with  the  add- 
tw  i/ittemess  of  discovering  that  their  sUte  is  not  relieved 
even  by  marriage. 

This  superadded  motive  in  the  last  line  is  the  one  which, 
at  least,  characterized  the  ballad  in  the  opinion  of  the  per- 
son who  aided  me  in  preserving  it  I  had  been  engaged 
for  hours  in  coaxing  one  ballad  after  another  from  an 
ancient  and  obstinate  W-  wko  insisted  that  in  spite  of  my 
apparent  honesty  I  w  ^^  ing  to  have  a  vast  deal  of 

fun  at  her  expense,  i^.  i  i  ^  stoutly  averred,  moreover, 
that  she  did  not  know  any  ballads  now,  no  matter  what 
might  be  proved  concerning  her  past  life.  At  the  close  of 
one  of  her  recitations,  when  she  setUed  back  with  the  usual 
declaration  that  she  had  come  to  the  end  of  her  tether  at 
last,  her  daughter  good-naturedly  came  to  my  aid.  The 
latter,  a  fine  buxom  matron,  repeated  the  last  stanza  of 
"The  New  River  Shore,"  and  bade  her  mother  "go  ahead 
with  that,"  at  the  same  time  observing,  as  she  folded  her 
muscular  arms  and  looked  benignly  upon  her  small  and 
palpably  uxorious  husband  in  the  chimney-comer,  "Ye 

i«s 


If 

|r)i.l 


Thz  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

may  depend  I'll  never  forget  that  vene.  I've  got  blame 
good  reasons  for  rememberin'  that  to  me  sorrow."  In  the 
absence,  then,  of  any  undisputed  evidence  in  favor  of 
either  of  the  captions  given  above  we  might  as  well  fall  in 
with  the  suggestion  of  my  jocular  friend,  who,  if  she  had 
been  a  pedantic  person  with  classifying  tendencies,  would 
have  placed  "The  Xew  River  Shore"  under  the  capti<m. 
Ballads  of  Oppressed  Wives. 


t    I 


1«4 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 

Th«  iKCOKflTANCT  0»  THB  BaZXAD 

One  wintCT  night,  some  years  ago,  I  was  disporting  my- 
idf  in  base  fashion  at  a  country  dance  in  a  remoteregion 
of  northern  Nova  Scotia.  The  pauses  between  dimces 
were  bemg  utilised  by  hot-beaded  youths  in  settling  their 
various  disputes  and  rivalrits,  and  by  their  more  pacific 
seniors  in  spinning  yams  around  the  kitchen  stove;  and 
torods  the  end  of  the  composite  entertamment  an  old 
fljennan  led  a  pUmgent  chorus  of  voices  through  the 
Come-aU-ye"  ballad  of  "The  Plains  of  Waterloo'T 

Come  all  you  brisk  and  lively  kds, 

Ccnne  listen  unto  m^ 
While  I  relate  how  I  have  fought 

Through  the  wars  of  Germany. 

I  have  fought  through  Spain  and  Portugal, 
Through  France  and  Flanders  too,— 

Up  to  this  point  the  different  members  of  the  roaring 
crew  aU  agreed  in  the  one  constant  recoUection  of  tfadr 
cainpaigning  days,  but  now  they  suddenly  broke  into  two 
divisions  on  a  rather  important  autobiographical  detaiL 
Oi  e  group  sang  the  remaining  two  lines  of  the  second 
stanza. 

But  it's  little  I  thought  I'd  be  reserved 
For  the  plains  of  Waterloo. 

100 


■  W 


Thx  Quest  or  the  Baxxao 

The  vetenuu  of  the  other  group,  with  a  less  cheerful  recol- 
lection of  their  experiences  on  the  great  battle-field,  sang 
with  a  loud  and  mournful  insistence, 

But  it's  little  I  thought  it  would  be  my  fate 
For  to  die  on  Waterloo. 


i,    ' 


)' 


There  was  an  immediate  halt  followed  by  a  savage  argu- 
moit,  but,  so  far  as  I  can  remember,  not  one  of  the  c(m- 
testants  attempted  to  settle  the  case  on  its  own  merits. 
Every  man  contended  that  he  had  sung  the  verse  "the  way 
it  ouj^t  to  be  sung,"  and  many  of  them  appealed  to  au- 
thority and  tradition ;  but  if  I  in  my  wisdom  had  suggested 
that  a  man  would  not  be  likely  to  make  a  scmg  about  the 
Battle  of  Waterloo  if  he  had  been  kiUed  in  that  batUe  I 
should  undoubtedly  have  been  assured  with  profane  la- 
conicism,  "It  don't  make  a  damn'  bit  of  difference  about 
that.    We're  singin'  the  song  the  way  it  was  made." 

There  you  have,  in  little,  the  attitude  of  ballad-singers 
the  world  over.  I  think  it  is  safe  to  say  that  no  true  ballad- 
singer  ever  consciously  changed  a  line  or  even  a  word  in 
the  songs  which  he  received  from  his  fathers  and  passed 
on  to  his  children;  but  everyone  who  has  the  slightest  ac- 
quaintance with  ballads  knows  that  they  exhibit  the  most 
startling  variations  in  phraseology,  so  that  even  within  the 
limits  of  a  single  commimity  a  given  stanza  may  be  sung 
in  several  different  ways.  In  this  brief  chapter  I  shall  il- 
lustrate a  few  of  the  characteristic  variations  and  idiosyn- 
cracies  in  the  ballads  that  have  been  sung  to  me. 

In  another  chapter  I  have  told  the  story  of  my  gradual 
acquisition  of  the  old  ballad  of  "Little  Musgrave."  The 
title  itself  had  been  metamorphosed  into  "Little  Matha 
Grove"  somewhere  in  that  misty  land  where  ballads  change 

166 


Thb  Inconstancy  or  thx  Ballad 

their  form  when  no  eye  if  upon  them.   One  linger  told  me 
that  in  hif  opinion  the  name  of  the  protagonist  was  "Little 
Matey  Gnmey,"  and  if  he  had  been  a  linger  of  note  and 
an  authority  in  the  places  where  ballads  were  sung  he 
might  quite  conceivably  have  imposed  his  vaguely  imag- 
ined substitution  upon  a  large  cLixsle  of  singers  and  thus 
have  handed  it  on  to  posterity.    The  other  singers  of  the 
ballad,  however,  all  employed  whav  we  may  now  regard 
as  the  conservative  name  "Little  Hatha  Grove."    But  in 
designating  the  husband  whose  position  was  for  a  brief 
season  usurped  by  Little  Hatha  with  susL  tragic  conse- 
quences there  was  a  more  important  and  mystifying  dif- 
ference.   In  Child's  editions  of  the  ballad  the  husband  is 
Lord  Bernard  or  Lord  Bamett,  but  in  some  of  the  ver- 
sions that  I  have  collected  he  is  caUed  Lord  Daniel  and  in 
others  he  is  called  Lord  Arnold.    AU  of  the  versiims  that 
I  have  found  were  within  a  radius  of  five  or  six  miles,  and 
in  no  case  was  the  singer  able  to  offer  any  argument  except 
that  Lord  Daniel— or  Lord  Arnold— was  the  rij^t  name 
because  it  was  the  one  used  when  the  song  was  sung  to 
him;  and  if  we  could  foUow  the  ballad  back  throu^  the 
l(»ig  centuries  that  have  elapsed  since  its  inception,  ques- 
tioning the  different  singers  along  the  way,  we  fbould 
doubtless  receive  from  every  singer  the  same  reasc,    ,'or 
the  faith  that  was  in  him  respecting  every  variant  name 
and  phrase  that  he  employed. 

But  in  the  phrasing  of  several  lines  and  stanzas  of  "Lit- 
tle Hatha  Grove"  there  are  variations  for  which  we  may 
account  easily  enough  in  our  learned  fashion,  thou^  our 
explanations  would  seem  to  the  singers  quite  foolish  and 
beside  the  point. 

Little  Hatha  and  Lord  Daniel's— or  Lord  Amdd'ft— 


i 


i 


1  , 

,       ^ 

''.''> 

^M.i 

> 

1 

U  li  ^  I. 


S      :      --' 

I 

V 

Ij' 

^'     ' 

, 

■J. 

The  Quest  of  the  Baixad 

wife  are  thus  described  by  one  singer  in  their  brief  hour  of 
felicity: 

So  they  tossed  and  tumbled  all  that  night. 

and  by  another  singer  thus: 

So  they  hustled  and  they  tumbled  till  they  both  fell  asleep. 

In  describing  an  incident  of  this  sort  any  singer,  under 
the  influence  of  embarrassment  or  of  unctuosity,  as  the 
case  may  be,  will  unconsciously  employ  the  euphemisms 
that  he  is  most  accustomed  to.  And  even  easier  to  explain 
is  the  variation  in  the  injured  husband's  response  to  Little 
Matha's  protest  that  he  is  unprepared  to  fight  for  his  life 
against  an  antagonist  who  has  "two  bright  swords  by  his 
side."   In  one  version  the  answer  is: 

If  I  have  two  bright  swords  by  my  side 

They  cost  me  deep  in  purse. 
And  you  shall  have  the  best  olF  them. 

And  I  shall  have  the  worst. 

And  you  shaU  have  the  very  first  blow. 

And  I  shall  have  the  other. 
What  more,  then,  could  I  do  for  you 

If  you  were  my  own  bom  brother? 

and  in  another  the  two  stanzas  are  fused  into  one  in  the 
following  wise: 

You  shall  have  the  very  best  one. 

And  I  shall  have  the  worst. 
And  you  shall  have  the  very  first  blow. 

And  I  shall  have  the  next, 
les 


The  Inconstancy  of  the  Ballad 

This  fusion  is  probably  the  result  of  a  defective  recollec- 
tion of  the  complete  answer  combined  with  a  very  clear 
recollection  of  the  gist  of  the  answer,  which  results  in  an 
unconscious  bringing  together  of  the  main  points  in  the 
chivahrous  response  of  the  husband. 

I  have  hunted  down  five  diflFerent  persons  who  were  able 
to  sing  this  noble  old  baUad  in  some  fashion,  and  the  five 
versions  are  teeming  with  variations  of  this  sort,  more  or 
less  capable  of  explanation.  It  is  interesting,  then,  to  see 
the  unanimity  of  all  these  versions  in  retaining  an  earlier 
variation  which  had  the  eflFect  of  completely  ruining  the 
rhyme  of  the  stanza  in  which  it  appeared.  This  stanza  oc- 
curs about  the  beginning  of  the  baUad,  and  describes  the 
appearance  of  tiie  richly-arrayed  persons  who  were  com- 
ing to  church  "the  holy  word  to  hear."  In  the  older 
version  of  the  ballad  which  appears  in  Child's  coDection 
the  stanza  runs  thus: 

The  one  of  them  was  clad  in  green, 

Another  was  clad  in  pall. 
And  then  came  in  my  Lord  Bernard's  wife. 

The  fairest  amongst  them  all. 

and  in  all  the  versions  that  I  have  heard  the  stanza  takes 
this  fonn: 

Some  came  in  in  diamonds  of  gold. 

And  some  came  in  in  pearls. 
And  among  them  all  was  little  Matha  Grove, 

The  handsomest  of  them  all. 

^^  The  interesting  change,  of  course,  is  from  "pall"  to 
"pearls."  The  "diamonds  of  gold"  would  come  in  natur- 
ally enough  to  accompany  the  pearls  and  to  supplant  the 

160 


f     /  ': 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

green,  and  the  substitution  of  Little  Hatha  Grove  for 
Lord  Bernard's  wife  is  only  one  of  scores  of  examples  of 
fast-and-loose  playing  with  proper  names  in  the  ballads. 
But  the  change  from  "pall"  to  "pearls"  is  the  change  from 
an  unknown  to  a  known  word — a  purchase  of  reason  at  a 
ruinous  expense  of  rhyme.  Lacking  the  omniscience  to 
report  exactly  how  the  change  came  about,  one  may 
shrewdly  surmise  that  it  was  never  definitely  or  consciously 
made,  but  that,  in  an  age  that  knew  not  "pall"  except  as 
a  sombre  burden  to  be  borne  decorously  to  the  grave,  the 
more  richly  suggestive  "pearls"  came  creeping  in  during 
the  night  to  find  themselves  securely  established  in  the 
mommg  and  ready  to  proceed  to  church  on  their  hypo- 
critical mission  "the  holy  word  to  hear." 

An  equally  heroic  sacrifice  of  rhyme  in  the  cause  of 
reason  appears  in  the  modem  version  of  "Lord  Thomas 
and  Fair  Ellinor"  as  I  found  it  in  Nova  Scotia.  Every- 
body who  knows  the  tragic  tale  in  the  old  ballad  wiU  re- 
member how  the  "brown  girl,"  when  she  is  eclipsed  at  her 
own  wedding  by  her  beautiful  rival  Fair  Ellinor,  draws 
her  "little  penknife"  and  stabs  Ellinor  to  the  heart.  In 
the  old  version  in  Child's  collection  Ellinor  is  thus  ad- 
dressed by  Lord  Thomas  after  she  has  received  her  death 
wound: 


f       ( 


"Oh  Christ  now  save  thee,"  Lord  Thomas  he  said, 
"Methinks  thou  look'st  wondrous  wan; 

Thou  wast  used  for  to  look  with  as  fresh  a  colour 
As  ever  the  sun  shin'd  on." 

and  in  the  Nova  Scotia  version  the  stanza  runs: 


Ji 


ITO 


The  Inconstancy  of  th£  Ballad 

"Ob  what  is  the  matter?"   Lord  Thomas  he  said, 

"I  think  you  look  wonderful  pale; 
You  used  to  have  as  bright  a  colour 

As  ever  the  sun  shone  on." 

Another  demonstration  of  the  fact  that  the  word  "wan" 
has  ceased  to  be  a  popular  descriptive  epithet  appears  in 
my  Nova  Scotia  version  of  "The  Douglas  Tragedy." 
Lord  William  has  slain,  one  by  one,  the  seven  brethroi  and 
the  father  of  Lady  Margret.  Then  the  two  lovers  proceed 
on  their  elopement,  or,  as  the  old  version  in  Child  nar- 
rates  it, 

O  they  rode  on,  and  on  they  rode. 

And  a'  by  the  li^t  of  the  moon. 
Until  they  came  to  yon  wan  water. 

And  there  they  lighted  down. 

This  stanza  is  thus  varied  in  the  Nova  Scotia  versicm: 

'Twas  on  the  road,  'twas  away  they  rode, 
'Twas  all  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 

Until  they  came  to  the  Erint  waters, 
That  was  raging  like  the  main.^ 

1  In  the  Scotch  balUd  "May  Collin"  (Version  H  of  "Lady  Isabd  and  the 
Elf  Knight"  in  ChUd's  coUection)  the  foUowing  stansa  narrates  the  Joomef  of 
May  and  her  falae  lover  to  the  river-side  i 

They  had  not  ridden  a  mile,  a  mile, 

A  mile  but  barely  three, 
Till  they  came  to  a  rank  river. 

Was  raging  like  the  sea. 

Tills  stansa,  to  be  sure,  does  not  appear  in  the  verrions  of  the  ballad  wUdi  I 
have  found  In  Nova  Scotia,  under  the  title  "Pretty  Pol^."  It  did  appear, 
however,  in  some  older  versimis  In  Scotland,  and,  very  probably,  in  smne  of 
the  Nova  Scotia  versions  as  well;  and  one  may  conjecture  that,  either  In  Scot- 
land or  in  Nova  Scotia,  it  influenced  "The  Sieven  Brethren"  to  the  eztoit  of 
bringing  alwut  the  variation  In  the  fourth  line  of  this  stansa. 

171 


if 


U'\ 


.;  I,! 


n  ill 


:'ii^ : 


f  ■:; 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 
"The  Douglas  Tragedy,"  or  "The  Seven  Brethren"  as 

LangilleofTatamagouche.   When  we  reached  this  stanza 
?^l  ^^^T."/  *^^  hand-paralyzing  process  of  copying 
out  the  baUad  I  paused  to  light  my  pipe,  Bob  thankfully 
followed  suit,  and  in  the  millennial  atmosphere  of  pea<i 
^ated  by  the  synchronous  action  of  two  pipes  I  asked 
Bob  what  the  Erint  waters  might  be.    "Why,"  said  Bob, 
that  s  the  name  of  the  river,  and  it  would  be  one  of  them 
great  nvers  m  England,  of  course.    I  never  seen  it  me- 
seJf,  but  if  ye  look  in  yer  jography  ye'll  most  likely  find 
out  all  about  it/'    Bob  is  the  only  person  that  ever  sang 
The  Douglas  Tragedy"  for  me,  and  whether  he  was  the 
one  to  transmute  "wan"  to  "Erint"  I  cannot  say,  but  I 
have  made  it  evident  that  he  never,  at  least,  performed  any 
conscious  act  of  transmutation,  nor,  one  may  pretty  safely 
say,  was  any  such  act  ever  performed  by  any  dinger  to 
brmg  about  the  change. 

These  last  three  examples  would  seem  to  indicate  the 
eastence  of  two  principles  operative  in  ballads  which  are 
bemg  moulded  by  the  process  of  oral  transmission,  name- 
Jy,  that  unfamiliar  words  are  replaced  by  familiar  ones 
and  that  rhyme  is  not  an  important  consideration  as  com- 
pared with  reason.  But  if  I  were  to  accept  these  as  rules 
and  then  proceed  in  a  spirit  of  honesty  to  iUustrate  them 
from  the  popular  ballads  I  should  be  compelled  to  spend 
fully  half  of  my  time  in  chronicling  the  exceptions,  of 
which  I  shall  now  give  two  or  three  examples. 

The  last  stanza  of  the  baUad  of  "Van  Dieman's  Land  " 
as  it  was  sung  to  me  by  old  James  LangiUe  of  MarshviUe 
runs  as  follows:  * 


172 


The  Inconbtakct  of  the  Ballad 

0  last  nij^t  as  I  lay  upon  my  bed  I  had  a  pleasant  dream; 

1  dreamt  I  was  in  old  Ireland  down  by  a  spurling  stream. 
With  a  handsome  girl  upon  my  side  and  she  at  my  com- 
mand. 

When  I  woke  quite  broken-hearted  all  in  Van  Dieman's 
Land. 

"Purling,"  it  need  scarcely  be  said,  is  to  the  popular  in- 
telligence unmeaning  and  unfamuiar.  But,  aided  by  the 
initial  sibilant,  it  grows  rich  in  onomatopeic  suggestion. 
It  may  be  objected  that  "spurling"  was  quite  possibly 
James's  individual  improvement  on  the  original  word,  but 
I  have  been  told  by  persons  who  beard  the  song  in  the  old 
days,  before  the  baUads  grew  morially  ill,  that  "spurling" 
is  traditional  in  that  region.  At  any  rate,  James  had 
not  the  slightest  idea  what  the  word  was,  but  he  neverthe- 
less dwelt  upon  it  with  special  emphasis  And  unction  when 
he  sang  the  song  to  me,  and  if  he  had  just  then  come  from 
a  reading  of  Keats  he  would  undoubtedly  have  silenced  my 
criticisms,  if  I  had  made  them,  with  the  retort: 

Beauty  is  truth,  truth  beauty, — ^that  is  all 
Ye  know  on  earth,  and  all  ye  need  to  know. 

A  variation  of  a  slightly  different  character  occurs  in 
the  first  stanza  of  the  slashing  sea-ballad  of  "KeUy  the 
Pirate,"  which  was  sung  to  me  by  that  ancient  mariner, 
Dick  Hinds.  The  stanza,  as  it  was  rendered  with  sonor- 
ous melody  by  Dick,  runs  thus: 

Captain  Cooper  gave  orders  on  the  first  of  May 
To  cruise  in  the  Channel  for  our  enemy. 
To  protect  our  commerce  from  that  darren  foe. 
And  all  our  merchant  ships  where  they  would  go. 

17S 


!  ■  1, 


•?,  It 


Ui- 


■Ji 


tit; 


1-! 

I      « 

I,!        '       i 


M  t  I' 


i 


I' 


i.      i'    \ 

f-              ■' 

!       i 

1 

^• 

'i 

The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

*T)arren"  is  obviously  a  corruption  of  "daring,"  but  it 
must  not  be  interpreted  as  a  mere  mispronunciation  of  the 
latter  word.  No  one  who  had  ever  heard  Dick  sing  the 
ballad  could  think  of  oflFering  that  explanation.  If  the 
word  were  written  "dahrren"  it  would  more  truly  repre- 
sent the  actual  pronunciation,  and  it  is  pronounced  with  a 
savage  and  powerful  trilling  of  the  r.  The  change  may 
have  been  wrought  upon  the  word  in  the  innumerable 
fo'c'stles  where  it  was  absorbed  and  reanimated  by  Dick, 
or  it  may  have  been  made  instinctively  and  naturally  by 
Dick  himself,  to  whom  sound  and  fury  were  dear;  but 
whatever  the  exphmation  it  cannot  be  denied  that  a  ra- 
tional but  colorless  word  has  been  transformed  into  an  ir- 
rational epithet  of  richly  bhwphemous  and  opprobrious 
connotation,  the  sort  of  epithet  that  any  one  of  us  might 
gladly  employ  when  we  speak  of  our  enemies. 

Another  example  of  the  irrational  and  meaningless  word 
unquestioningly  retained  in  the  belief  that  it  is  correct, 
even  though  unintelligible,  occurs^in  one  of  my  versions  of 
"Pretty  Polly,"  which  is  the  modem  substitute  for  the  old 
title  "Lady  Isabel  and  the  Elf  Knight."  When  PoUy  re- 
turns from  the  river  where  she  has  drowned  her  false  lover 
the  parrot  from  its  cage  asks  an  excited  question  which 
awakens  Polly's  father  and  comes  near  to  giving  away  the 
whole  escapade.  But  when  the  father  inauires  the  cause 
of  the  parrot's  excitement  the  latter,  with  ready  wit,  shields 
its  mistress  with  the  following  reply: 

The  old  cat  had  got  up  to  my  littock  so  high. 
And  I  was  afraid  she  was  going  to  eat  me. 
And  I  was  calling  for  Pretty  Polly 
To  go  drive  the  old  cat  away. 

174 


-'..r*..p  «feyi^i«»JHij..<« 


Ths  Incomstanct  of  thx  Ballad 

This  stanza  occurs  in  the  version  sung  to  me  by  Easter 
Ann  Lai  gille,  daughter  of  Greorge  Langille  of  Marshville, 
one  of  the  old  heroic  race  of  ballad  singers  vho  was  gath- 
ered to  his  fathers  in  consequence  of  my  determination  to 
seek  him  out  and  copy  down  all  the  ballads  that  he  knew — 
all  of  which  I  have  related  in  a  previous  chapter  of  this 
book.  When  'faster  Ann  had  finished  singing  the  ballad 
to  me  I  asked  her  what  a  littock  was,  and  she  regarded  me 
for  a  space  with  a  sardonic  eye. 

"Well  now/'  she  said  at  last,  "I  know  what  yell  be 
askin'  me  for  next.  Te'll  be  askin'  me  to  write  a  dic- 
tionary for  ye  to  take  back  to  CoUege  with  ye.  If  a  great 
scholfu*  like  you  doesn't  know  what  a  littock  is,  I'd  like  to 
know  how  ye  can  expect  a  poor  ignorant  old  woman  to 
know." 

I  should  have  liked  to  ask  a  similar  question  of  old  Ann 
Thompson  regarding  an  astounding  line  in  one  of  her  bal- 
lad'i,  but  the  reader  who  remembers  my  encounter  with 
Ann  in  the  first  chapter  of  this  book  will  not  think  too 
meanly  of  me  when  I  say  that  I  copied  the  line  down  with 
never  a  flitter  of  an  eyelid,  accepting  it  as  though  it  were 
the  most  glorified  commonsense  or  the  simplest  and  dear- 
est of  narrative  details.  The  ballad  in  question  was  "The 
Banks  of  Claudie,"  which  began  quietly  and  modestly 
enough  with  the  stanza: 


As  I  walked  out  one  evening  down  by  the  river  side 
I  overheard  a  damsel,  the  tears  fell  from  her  eyes, 
Sajring,  "This  is  a  dark  and  stormy  night," — ^those  very 

words  did  say — 
"And  my  love  is  on  the  raging  sea  bound  for  America." 


175 


W  -i 


\  i'f' 


•i   : 


i     1 

\ 

!'■ 

t 

i 

i 

The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

The  "I,"  it  mil  at  once  be  obvious,  is  the  returned  lover 
in  disguise,  and  he  proceeds  after  the  manner  of  his  type 
in  the  baUads  to  test  the  faithfuhiess  of  his  mourning 
sweetheart  with  such  insinuating  remarks  as,  "Do  not  trust 
young  Johnny,  for  he's  a  false  yoimg  man,"  and  "Come 
along  with  me  to  yonder  banks,  no  danger  need  you  fear." 
Angered  by  this  persecution,  the  young  woman  pronounces 
upon  her  supposedly  absent  lover  a  eulogistic  stanza  in 
which  the  fervor  is  perhaps  a  sufficient  reason  for  the  re- 
markable statement  in  the  last  line.    This  is  the  stanza: 

If  Johnny  he  was  here  this  night  he'd  shed  me  from  all 
harm; 

He's  dressed  in  his  readiness  all  in  his  unif  onn. 
He's  gone  to  pl-w  the  ocean,  his  foes  he  will  defy. 
Like  a  rolling  king  of  honour  he  fought  in  the  wars  of 
Troy. 

Ann  delivered  this  stanza  with  her  black  defiant  eyes 
fixed  steadily  upon  me,  and  even  that  Homeric  warrior 
Johnny,  if  he  had  been  in  my  pUce,  would  have  hesitated 
to  msmuate  that  anything  in  the  song  might  be  obscure 
or  queer. 

I  might  go  on  with  numberless  exceptions  to  the  peri- 
lous rule  that  humble  folk  like  to  understand  the  expres- 
sions that  occur  in  their  songs,  but  if  I  have  conveyed  the 
mipression  that  in  this  case  the  exceptions  proceed  pari 
poMu  with  the  rule  I  may  now  go  on  to  examine  the  sec- 
ond prmciple  which  I  scepticaUy  proposed  a  few  pages 
back,  namely,  that  rhyme  is  in  itself  a  re-^ction  tobe 
swept  aj.de  when  it  stands  in  the  way  of  satisfactory  ex- 
pression. Let  me  present  one  or  two  exceptions  to  this 
experimental  dictum. 

17« 


The  Inconstancy  of  the  Ballad 

The  reader  may  remember  that  in  one  of  the  earlier 
chapters  of  this  book  I  discussed  a  group  of  ballads  pre- 
senting the  story  of  the  young  man  who  has  returned  to 
his  home  after  several  years'  absence,  and  who,  under 
cover  of  a  disguise,  proceeds  to  test  the  fidelity  of  his  for- 
mer sweetheart.  The  ballad  which  I  cited  as  an  example 
of  this  class  begins  with  the  stanza: 

As  a  maid  was  walkmg  in  her  garden 

A  single  sailor  came  riding  by; 
He  stepped  up  to  her,  he  thought  he  knew  her. 

He  said,  "Fair  maid,  can  you  fancy  I?" 

If,  after  a  due  contemplation  of  this  stanza,  anyone  still 
feels  inclined  to  maintain  that  the  ballad-singing  folk  are 
careless  and  neglectful  of  rhyme  when  it  stands  in  the  way 
of  rational  expression,  I  have  only  one  further  expedient 
to  employ,  which  is  to  refer  him  to  a  stanza  occurring  about 
midway  in  the  rollicking  English  ballad  of  "The  Liver- 
pool Landlady."  SaUor  John  has  just  returned  from  sea 
with  his  pockets  full  of  gold,  and  he  proceeds  to  caU  upon 
his  former  landlady  and  to  make  trial  of  her  altruism  by 
pretending  that  he  is  penniless.  The  landlady  fails  miser- 
ably to  conform  to  the  ethical  standards  of  John,  and  at 
last  he  punishes  her  horribly  by  diving  into  his  pockets  and 
producing  "his  two  hands  fuU  of  gold."  The  hmdlady's 
c<nistemation  is  thus  depicted: 

The  sight  of  the  money  made  the  old  woman  rave. 
To  see  that  the  sailor  had  plenty  for  to  gave. 
"While  you  were  in  earnest,  John,  I  am  only  in  jest. 
Of  all  my  old  boarders,  John,  I  like  you  the  best." 

177 


.1 


>    » 


{ 


' »'  ) 


'  I 


Mi 


The  Quxst  ov  thx  Ballad 

Here  is  riiyme  with  a  vengeance.  In  the  enthunaim 
aroused  by  this  example  and  the  one  cited  just  before  it  I 
am  almost  tempted  to  proceed  to  the  unscientific  gener- 
alization that  ballad-singers  will  gladly  sacrifice  up<m  the 
altar  of  rhyme  all  of  those  considerations  which  ordi- 
narily operate  in  speech,  heaping  up  grammar,  idiran, 
reason,  and  coherence  in  one  indiscriminate  oblation.  I 
am  restrained  from  this  perilous  decisi<m,  however,  by  the 
remembrance  that  these  two  examples  were  presented  as 
exceptions  to  a  rule  tentatively  established  on  what  seemed 
for  the  moment  to  be  a  tolerably  firm  basis  of  iUustration, 
and  I  shall  content  myself,  therefore,  with  a  reiteration  of 
the  conservative  principle  that  no  rule  for  variant  phras- 
ing in  the  popular  ballads  is  stronger  than  its  exceptions. 
But  no  reader,  I  hope,  will  be  so  unwary  as  to  suppose 
that  I  am  gradually  working  myself  into  a  state  of  despair 
by  a  contemplation  of  the  infinite  variety  of  the  popular 
ballads.  There  needs  no  Daniel  to  come  to  judgment  to 
tell  us  that  infinite  variety  and  elusiveness  are  alluring 
things  in  a  woman,  and  these  same  thin^^  form  an  equally 
considerable  part  of  the  fascmation  of  the  popular  Y  Uads. 
Furthermore,  so  long  as  any  ballad  remains  popular,  these 
qualities  cling  to  it  as  a  siatter  of  course.  I  may  copy 
down  and  conunit  to  cold  print  the  version  of  a  ballad 
which  is  given  to  me  by  a  singer  of  the  people,  but  I  must 
on  no  account  permi  myself  to  suppose  that  this  version 
represents  anjibing  like  a  rigid  or  final  form  of  the  ballad 
in  question.  No  version  of  any  ballad  has  the  right  to  be 
insidfcied  as  either  rigid  or  final.  It  is  of  the  very  es- 
sential nature  of  all  baUads  that,  so  long  as  they  remain 
popular,  ^ey  are  capable  of  Protean  variaticms  in  phrase- 
ology, and  the  only  standard  of  etiquette  to  apply  is  that 

178 


.1 


Thx  Incomitamcy  of  thb  Ballad 

these  varifttioiM  must  be  instinctiye  and  unconscious. 
Bishop  Percy  and  the  other  collectors  of  his  school  who 
deliberately  tamperc>d  with  the  phraseology  of  the  ballads 
which  they  were  committing  to  p.-int  were  infringing  upon 
a  rule  which  to  every  singer  of  the  folk  is  sacred  and  in- 
violable. 

The  ballad  collectors  of  the  old  school  had  little  hesita- 
tion about  "improving"  and  "polishmg"  the  phraseology 
of  any  ballad  which  they  had  found  and  were  about  to 
commit  to  print,  and  nowadays  every  puny  whipster  is 
ready  to  castigate  their  shadows  for  this  sacrilege.    The 
old  collectors,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  were  guilty  only  of  a 
f aUure  to  appreciate  the  true  nature  and  worth  of  folk- 
lore, and  in  our  own  days  of  enlightenmoit  we  are  guilty 
of  a  misapprehension  ahnost  equally  great.   I  myself  have 
heard  collectors  speak  of  one  special  version  of  a  ballad  as 
being  "the  correct  version"  and  of  other  versions  equaUy 
popular  as  being  "incorrect" ;  and  a  fairly  common  method 
with  conscientious  collectors  is  to  persuade  a  singer  to  go 
over  a  ballad  again  and  again  until  finally  the  so-called 
"correct"  form  is  beaten  out.    This,  to  be  sure,  is  an  inter- 
esting experiment  to  perform  both  with  the  singer  and 
with  the  ballad,  if  the  singer  is  an  amenable  person,  which 
is  not  invariably  the  case;  but  the  scientific  purpose  of  the 
experiment  should  be  to  discover  how  many  variations  this 
particular  singer  will  employ  in  singing  this  particular 
ballad,  and  not  to  arrive  at  a  falsely  hypothesized  "cor- 
rect" form.    Here,  for  instance,  are  two  slightly  varied 
forms  of  a  stanza  from  "Lord  Thomas  and  Fair  EUinor." 
They  appeared,  respectively,  in  the  first  and  second  ren- 
ditions of  the  ballad  from  one  singer. 


\  h 


1T0 


1= 

H 
1-: 


\ 


and. 


Th3  Quest  or  thx  Ballad 

He  took  her  by  the  lily-white  hand 

And  led  her  through  the  hall. 
He  set  her  cm  a  golden  chair 

Anumg  the  ladies  alL 

He  took  her  by  the  lily-white  hand 

And  led  her  through  them  all, 
He  set  her  (m  a  golden  chair 

Among  the  ladies  all. 

Two  stanzas  before  this  one  occurs  the  description  of 
Fair  EUinor  as  she  went  with  her  merry  maids  to  the  ill- 
fated  wedding  of  Lord  Thomas.  The  singer  to  whom  I 
have  just  alluded  is  Lucy  Langille  of  Marshville,  and  she 
thus  worded  the  description  when  she  first  ^mg  the  ballad 
tome: 

She  dressed  herself  in  riches  so  gay. 

Her  merry  maids  all  in  blue. 
And  every  town  that  she  passed  through 

They  took  her  to  be  a  queen. 

As  I  was  copying  the  stanza  down  I  asked  rather  ill- 
advisedly,  "Are  you  sure  she  dressed  them  in  blue  and  not 
in  green?"  "Yes,"  said  Lucy,  "  'blue*  is  right.  Ye  can 
see  it  rhymes  with  'through.' "  I  made  no  further  objec- 
tion, but  when  I  persuaded  her  to  sing  the  ballad  for  me 
a  second  time,  she  delivered  the  stanza,  without  any  hesi- 
tation, thus: 

She  dressed  herself  in  riches  so  gay, 

Her  merry  maids  all  in  green, 
And  every  town  that  she  passed  by 

They  took  her  to  be  a  queen. 

ISO 


'H  ■ 


The  iMCONtTANCT  OF  THX  BaLLAO 

Tlie  one  thing  that  I  felt  podtire  of  at  the  time  wm 
that  there  wu  no  deliberate  change  made,  but  lince  I 
played  a  part  in  bringing  thi«  particular  chauge  about  I 
ctn  not,  ai  an  hooert  collector,  um  it  without  explanation 
in  any  version  of  the  ballad  which  I  preient    The  varia- 
tiop  It  m  iti  wav,  however,  an  interettiog  and  character- 
irticone.    It  has  ^xi  exact  parallel  in  the  two  varianta  of 
a  rtanaa  in  "Lord  Bateman."    Thii  baUad,  it  may  be  re- 
membered, wai  sung  to  me,  on  two  different  occadons, 
by  Sandy  and  Dave  Rogers  respectively,  and  they  had 
both  leaned  it  in  bygone  days  from  their  common  father. 
Sandy  thus  portrayed  the  prompt  action  of  Lord  Bateman 
upon  receipt  of  the  tidings  that  his  Turkish  lady  has  ar- 
rived at  the  palace: 

He  stamped  his  foot  all  on  the  floor. 

He  broke  the  Uble  in  pieces  four. 
Saying,  "Adieu,  adieu  to  my  new  wedded  bride, 

For  this  fair  maid  I'll  go  and  see." 

while  Dave  reported  the  action  thus: 

He  stamped  his  foot  upon  the  floor. 

He  broke  the  table  in  pieces  three, 
Saying,  "Adieu,  adieu  to  my  new  wedded  bride, 

For  this  fair  lady  I'll  go  and  see." 

In  this  case,  of  course,  one  has  a  perfect  right  to  prefer 
Dave  8  stanza  to  Sandy's,  since  the  latter  is  obviously  a 
corruption  caused  by  Sandy's  instinctive  eagerness  in 
reachmg  for  the  immediate  rhyme  instead  of  waitinir 
cahnly  for  the  ultimate  one  which  is  in  hannony  with  tite 

181 


I 


(    :  • 


JIM 


hf: 


f/lr 


M 


■i, 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

neighboring  stanzas;  and  the  same  principle  of  selection 
could  be  applied  to  my  preceding  example  from  "Lord 
Thomas  and  Fair  Ellinor"  if  my  own  artificial  influence 
had  not  helped  to  produce  the  variation. 

But  one  rarely  has  the  opportunity  to  be  as  definite  as 
this  in  comparing  variant  words  or  phrases.  Mutations 
are  likely  to  appear  in  a  ballad  during  the  process  of 
repeated  singing  by  one  person,  they  are  certain  to  appear 
in  great  variety  and  profusion  in  a  ballad  that  is  Lhe  com- 
mon property  of  several  persons,  and  to  select  from  this 
interesting  confusion  one  form  which  shall  be  labelled  "cor- 
rect" is  to  remove  from  the  term  "ballad"  its  qualifying 
epithet  "popular."  The  singers  themselves  are  always  ex- 
tremely anxious  to  be  correct,  and  every  variation  wuich 
they  unconsciously  introduce  is  of  importance  if  one  is  to 
accept  the  ballad  as  a  "popular"  possession. 

I  have  shown  something  of  the  nature  of  this  confusion 
as  it  appears  in  many  of  the  ballads  that  I  have  mentioned 
in  this  chapter,  but  I  should  like  to  examine  some  one  bal- 
lad rather  more  consistently  from  this  point  of  view.  The 
most  extreme  example  that  I  could  select  from  my  own 
ooUection  would  be  "Little  Musgrave,"  or  "Little  Matha 
Grove."  This  was  simg  to  me  by  five  different  perscms, 
and  each  of  the  five  consequent  versions  has  its  own  strik- 
ing peculiarities.  But  a  fairer  illu:<tration,  and  one  that 
will  be  easier  to  present,  is  "Lady  Isabel  and  the  Elf 
Ejiight,"  or  "Pretty  Polly,"  as  it  is  more  simply  entitled 
in  Nova  Scotia  when  it  is  given  a  title  at  all  in  that  region. 
"Pretty  Polly"  was  sung  to  me  by  John  Luigille  of  River 
John  uid  by  Easter  Ann  Langille  of  Marshville;  and 
Dave  Rogers  of  Pictou,  thou^  he  could  not  remem- 
ber the  ballad  well  enough  to  sing  it  throughout,  was 


The  Inconstastcy  op  the  Ballad 

nevertheless  able  to  give  me  what  he  regarded  as  the 
"correct"  versions  of  two  or  three  stanzas.    Some  of  the 
variations  which  thus  appeared  I  shall  now  exhibit 
John  started  the  ballad  with  these  four  stanzas: 

There  was  a  lord  in  Ambertown, 

He  courted  a  lady  gay. 
And  all  that  he  wanted  of  this  pretty  maid 

Was  to  take  her  life  away. 

Go  get  me  some  of  your  father's  gold. 

And  some  of  your  mother's  fee. 
And  two  of  the  best  nags  out  of  the  stably 

Where  there  stands  thirty  and  thr^. 

She  went  and  got  some  of  her  father's  gold. 

And  some  of  her  mother's  fee. 
And  two  of  the  best  nags  out  of  the  stable. 

Where  there  stood  thirty  and  three. 

She  mounted  on  the  milk-white  steed. 

And  he  on  the  rambling  gray. 
And  they  rode  till  they  came  to  the  salt  sea-side. 

Three  hours  before  it  was  day. 

Easter  Ann  condensed  these  four  stanzas  to  three  in  the 
following  wise: 

There  was  a  lord  in  Ambertown 

Courted  a  lady  fair. 
And  all  he  wanted  of  this  pretty  fair  maid 

Was  to  take  her  life  away. 


J 


I8S 


I    .H 


■  -    t 


\Vt  I 


I  ■» 


I 


h.' 


i" 


The  Qu£8t  of  the  Ballad 

Gro  get  me  some  of  your  father's  gold, 

And  some  of  your  mother's  fees, 
And  two  of  the  best  horses  in  your  father's  stall 

Where  there  stands  thirty  and  three. 

So  she  mounted  on  her  steed  white  milk, 

And  he  on  his  dappling  gray. 
And  they  rode  forward  to  the  sea 

Two  hours  before  it  was  day. 

So  far  these  two  singers  have  not  agreed  entirely  on 
more  than  two  or  three  lines,  and  some  of  the  difiperenoes, 
like  the  rationalized  form  "fees"  in  Easter  Ann's  version 
as  against  the  conservative  form  "fee"  retained  by  John, 
are  not  without  interest.  John  was  content  with  the  word 
"fee"  because,  although  he  had  no  idea  what  it  meant,  he 
was  convinced  that  it  was  right.  Easter  Ann,  out  of  many 
unhappy  experiences,  knew  fuD  well  what  "fees"  were,  and 
how  fortunate  was  the  maid  who  could  collect  and  retain 
them. 

The  ballad  now  proceeds  to  the  point  where  the  villain- 
ous wooer  commands  his  victim  to  remove  her  rich  clothing 
before  she  goes  to  join  the  six  other  maids  whom  he  has 
"drownded  here."  In  John's  version  the  order  is  given  in 
this  form: 

"Take  oflF,  take  oflP  thy  silken  dress. 
Likewise  thy  golden  stays.  ^ 

Methinks  they  are  too  rich  and  too  gay 
To  rot  in  tiie  salt  salt  seas." 

Easter  Ann  varied  the  first  line  of  this  stanza  with 

"Take  oft,  take  off  thy  bonny  silk  plaid." 
18« 


The  Inconstanct  of  the  Ballad 

The  lady  prepares  to  obey  this  request,  but,  ^th  a  wily 
assumption  of  modesty,  requests  her  companion  to  turn 
his  back  while  she  undresses.  The  moment  he  does  so  she 
seizes  him  "by  the  middle  so  tight"  and  throws  him  into 
the  water  to  keep  company  with  the  six  pretty  maids 
whom  he  has  previously  drowned.  Then  she  mounts  her 
horse,  rides  back  home  "an  hour  before  it  was  day,"  and 
prepares  to  enter  the  house  quietly  when  she  is  interrupted 
by  the  parrot,  which  is  training  a  keen  weather  eye  upon 
her  actions.    John's  version  thus  introduces  the  parrot: 

The  parrot  being  up  so  early  in  the  mom. 

It  unto  Polly  did  say, 
"I  was  afraid  tiiat  some  ruffian 

Had  led  you  astray." 

Easter  Ann's  version  agrees;  but  at  this  point  Dave 
comes  in  with  an  interesting  variation,  which  is 

The  parrot  was  up  in  the  window  high 

And  heard  what  she  did  say. 
"Where  have  you  been,  my  pretty  Polly, 

That  you're  out  so  long  before  day?" 

The  following  stanza,  in  John's  version,  runs. 

The  old  man  on  his  pillow  did  lie. 

He  unto  the  parrot  did  say, 
"What  ails  you,  what  ails  you,  you  pretty 
Poll  parrot. 

You  prattle  so  long  before  day?" 

and  in  Easter  Ann's  version  it  assumes  the  following 
strange  and  vertiginous  aspect; 

IM 


^% 


;  ■   : 


?    )( 


■;i 


<i  ! 


•  •■  1 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

The  old  man  he,  its  being  awoke. 

And  he  heard  all  that  was  said. 
"What  were  you  prittling  and  prattling,  my 
pretty  Polly, 

And  keeping  me  awake  aU  night  long?" 

The  parrot,  in  spite  of  the  frightful  manhandling  which 
he  thus  receives,  recovers  his  wits  immediat'ily,  and  sallies 
to  the  rescue  of  his  mistress  with  the  explanation, 

"The  old  cat  had  got  up  to  my  littock  so  high. 
And  I  was  afraid  she  was  going  to  eat  me. 

And  I  was  calling  for  pretty  Polly 
To  go  drive  the  old  cat  away." 

John's  version  of  this  stanza  differs  in  the  first  line,  and 
ennobles  the  cat  with  the  masculine  gender.    It  runs, 

"The  old  cat  was  at  my  cage  door. 
And  I  was  afraid  he  was  going  to  eat  me. 

And  I  was  calling  for  pretty  Polly 
To  go  drive  the  old  cat  awty." 

But  here  Dave  comes  in  again,  this  time  with  a  startling 
variation: 

"The  old  cat  was  at  my  cage  door. 

And  swore  she  would  devour  me. 
And  I  was  calling  for  fair  MacConnel 

To  hiss  the  cat  away." 

After  Dave  had  sung  this  outrageous  stanza  to  me  I 
told  him  how  John  and  Easter  Ann  had  sung  it,  and  de- 

186 


The  iNcoNgTAKCY  or  the  Ballad 

manded  an  explanation.  "Why,"  said  Dave  oomplaoent- 
ly>  "it's  plain  to  be  seen  that  I  sung  the  verse  ri^t  for  ye. 
Fair  MacC<xinel  was  the  senrant-girl's  name,  and  neither 
one  o'  them  could  remember  it  for  ye,  could  th^?" 

This  bringsustothecanduaianof  the  ballad,  which  con- 
tains a  grateful  recognition  from  the  lady  of  the  service 
rendered  her  by  the  parrot  John's  version  closes  with 
the  two  graceful  and  flowing  stanzas, 

"Well  turned,  weU  turned,  my  pretty  PoU  parrot  1 
"WeU  turned,  weD  tumedl"  said  she. 

"Your  cage  it  shall  be  of  the  glittering  gold. 
And  the  doors  of  ivory. 

"No  tales,  no  tales,  my  pretty  PoU  parrot, 

Xo  tales  you  will  tell  on  me. 
Your  cage  it  shall  be  of  the  glittering  gold. 

And  hung  on  yon  willow  tree." 

But  John  himself  was  impressed  not  so  much  by  the  beauty 
of  the  verses  as  by  the  incomprdiensible  nature,  as  it 
seemed  to  him,  of  the  last  promise.  "I  can't  rightly  see," 
he  objected,  "what  good  it  would  do  the  parrot  to  have 
he's  cage  taken  away  out  there.  That  always  seemed  to 
me  to  be  a  hell  of  a  distance  away  from  the  house  to  put 
a  bird-cage." 

The  source  of  John's  perplexity  will  be  more  evident  if 
I  present  a  stanza  which  occurs  earlier  in  the  ballad: 

"If  I  take  oft  my  silken  dress, 

likewise  my  golden  stays. 
You  must  turn  your  back  around  to  me. 

And  face  yon  willow  tree." 

18. 


i 


i 


i\ 


"i 


i-i.'  .. . ' 


I 


'I  I' 


fi 


■I 


Hi 


.:         il 


III 


ll 


The  Qxtest  of  the  Baixad 

That  is  to  say,  "yon  willow  tree"  was  by  the  "salt  sea- 
side," two  hours'  journey  from  the  house. 

But  Easter  Ann  had  no  such  problem  in  higher  criticism 
to  knot  her  brows.  The  concluding  stanza  of  her  version 
comfortably  evades  the  issue  with  a  very  interesting  line, 
which  is  the  last  line  of  the  ballad,  and,  solely  for  that 
reason,  the  last  variant  to  be  found. 

"Don't  prittle,  don't  prattle,  my  pretty  Polly, 

Nor  teU  any  tales  on  me. 
Yoiu*  cage  shall  be  made  of  the  glittering  gold 

Instead  of  the  greenwood  tree." 

I  might  go  on  almost  indefinitely  heaping  up  similar  ex- 
amples of  popular  variations  in  the  renditions  of  the  bal- 
lads, but  I  have  now  suggested  most  of  the  characteristic 
kinds  of  change  in  the  ballads  that  I  myself  have  heard. 
My  interest  in  doing  so,  I  need  hardly  say,  is  in  pointing 
out  something  of  the  endless  variety  displayed  by  the  bal- 
lad when  it  is  the  possession  of  its  natural  owners,  the 
humble  folk,  and  I  have  religiously  kept  myself  from 
drifting  into  the  formulation  of  any  rigid  theory  of  change. 
It  would  be  more  proper,  I  suppose,  to  say  that  I  have 
been  Kept  from  any  such  theorizing  by  the  ballads  them- 
selves, since  they  steadily  refuse  to  lend  themselves  to  any 
rule  formulated  either  by  an  individual  or  by  a  group  of 
persons,  preferring  the  freedom  which  permits  them  to 
change  according  to  the  chance  mood  dictated  by  time, 
place,  or  singer.  I  have,  to  be  sure,  insisted  in  rather  di- 
dactic fashion  on  the  good  faith  of  the  singers  who  are 
the  instruments  for  producing  the  changes,  but  I  can  do 
no  less  after  my  scores  of  experiences  in  the  company  of 

188 


.  i  '1 


The  Inconstancy  07  the  Ballad 

smgers  who,  with  never  a  dissenting  voice,  have  combined 
to  nourish  this  belief  in  me. 

In  so  far,  thai,  as  this  chapter  has  veered  towards  the 
uncharted  rocks  of  theoiy  it  has  been  steered  by  the  sing- 
ers and  not  by  the  ballads.  I  have  laid  constant  stress  on 
my  belief  that  no  ballad-singer  ever  makes  a  conscious  or 
deliberate  change  in  the  phraseology  of  his  song,  and  so 
far,  at  least,  as  my  own  experience  goes,  there  is  not  a 
shred  of  evidence  against  this  belief.  If  one  were  to  con- 
sider the  whole  question  of  ballad  change  one  could  not, 
of  course,  be  content  with  a  consideration  of  the  influence 
of  the  folk  singers  only.  It  would  be  necessary  to  admit 
certain  other  known  influences,  and  to  guess  at  stiD  others 
which  are  uncertain  and  unknown.  The  fact,  for  instance, 
that  a  version  of  a  traditional  ballad  was  often  captured 
and  printed  in  a  song-book  or  in  broadside  form  with 
"corrections"  and  "improvements,"  and  then  circulated 
afresh  among  people  to  whom  the  authority  of  the  printed 
word  was  absolute,  is  one  that  would  have  to  be  definitely 
considered.  But  with  such  influences  as  these  I  have  at 
present  no  concern.  I  am  accepting  the  many  and  puz- 
zling variations  as  they  occvtr,  and  attempting  only  to 
show,  on  a  basis  of  illustration,  the  attitude  of  the  singers 
as  I  have  found  them. 

A  truce,  then,  to  theorizing.  An  expedient  that  occurs 
to  me  as  a  useful  one  to  aid  in  fixing  a  complete  and  haunt- 
ing conviction  of  the  variableness  of  the  ballad  which  has 
been  allowed  to  go  untrammelled  among  the  singers  of  the 
folk  is  to  present  in  full,  with  aU  their  picturesque  di£Fer- 
ences,  the  two  versions  that  I  have  collected  of  a  modem 
metrical  tale  which  in  its  time  has  been  dear  to  many  a 
sailor's  heart.  This  is  the  ballad  that  I  have  abeady  re- 
ferred to  as  "The  Liverpool  Landlady."    I  first  heard  it. 


4 


[ 


i  II" 


«1 


f 


Jl 


f?^M  III 


Thx  Quest  of  ths  Ballad 

under  the  title  "Green  Beds,"  from  old  Bob  Ijangille,  and 
he  had  learned  it  in  the  days  of  his  comparatiye  youth 
down  at  the  wharf  in  Tatamagouche,  where  he  used  to  find 
an  oocasi(mal  day's  work  at  the  unloading  of  the  sdiooii- 
ers.    His  versicm  proceeded  in  this  wise: 

'Twas  of  a  young  sailor 

Who's  lately  come  ashore, 
He's  ragged  in  his  apparel 

Like  one  that  is  poor. 

He  came  unto  the  boarding-house 

That  he  used  to  board  in. 
He  came  unto  the  old  woman 

To  see  what  she  would  say  to  him. 

"Tou're  welcome  home,  dear  Johnnie, 
Tou're  welcome  home  from  sea. 

Last  night  my  daughter  Mollie 
Was  dreaming  of  thee. 

"What  news,  what  news,  dear  Johnnie? 

What  news  you  brought  tram  seaf 
"Bad  news,  bad  news,"  says  Johnnie, 

For  all  is  g(»ie  f  rom  me. 

"The  ship  has  sprung  a  leaking. 

And  aU  is  gmie  f  rom  me. 
And  the  last  of  my  money 

Is  drownded  in  the  sea. 

"Call  down  your  daughter  Mollie, 

Call  her  down  to  me. 
And  well  drink  and  drown  our  sorrow 

And  married  we  shall  be." 

190 


The  IvcoNtTAKCT  or  thx  Ballad 

"My  daug^iter  she  is  busy, 
Xor  can  sl^  come  to  you. 

Neither  will  I  trust  you 
With  one  bowl  or  two." 

When  Johnnie  heard  this 

He  hung  down  his  head. 
And  called  for  a  candle 

To  light  himself  to  bed. 

"The  green  beds  are  full,  John, 
And  have  been  for  a  week. 

So  for  some  other  lodgings 
Tou  must  go  for  to  seek." 

When  Johnnie  heard  this. 

He  hung  down  his  head. 
And  called  for  his  reckoning 

Which  he  iiad  to  pay. 

"You  owe  me  thirty  shillings,  John, 
With  something  of  the  old." 

With  that  he  pulled  out 
His  two  hands  full  of  gold. 

When  the  old  woman  saw  this 

She  began  to  rue. 
Saying,  "For  the  future,  Johnnie, 

I'm  not  quite  done  of  you. 

"If  you  had  been  in  earnest,  John, 

As  I  was  in  a  jest. 
By  my  reputation,  Johnnie, 

I  love  you  the  best. 


I. 


*  I 


I  !' 


The  Qukst  of  the  Ballad 

"The  green  beds  axe  empty,  Jcha, 

And  have  been  all  the  wedc. 
For  you  and  my  daughter 

To  take  a  pleasant  sleep." 

"I  won't  lie  in  your  green  beds, 

I'd  rather  lie  in  the  street. 
For  when  I  was  in  poverty. 

Lodgings  was  for  to  seek. 

"But  now  that  I've  got  plenty 

I'll  walk  the  streets  alone. 
With  my  brown  jug  and  quart  mug, 

And  tumblers  in  galore." 

About  a  year  after  I  had  copied  this  ballad  out  and 
committed  it  to  imperishable  manuscript  I  was  spending 
a  comfortable  evening  with  Dick  Hinds.  After  we  had 
employed  a  fruitful  hour  or  two  in  ferreting  out  the  hidden 
places  in  Cmiadian  politics,  Dick  suddenly  strai^itened 
up  in  his  chair,  spat  violently  into  the  glowing  embers  of 
his  kitchen  fire,  and  exclaimed:  "WeU,  it's  about  time  I 
was  singin'  ye  a  song.  I'll  give  ye  'The  Liverpool  Land- 
lady' this  time  fer  a  change." 

No  assent  or  encouragement  was  expected  from  me.  I 
merely  separated  a  sulphur  match  from  the  card  on  the 
little  shelf  behind  the  stove  and  put  the  tip  of  it  against  a 
red-hot  area  to  get  a  fresh  flame  for  my  pipe,  while  Dick 
cleared  his  throat  giganticaUy,  threw  his  head  back  to  get 
more  sea-room,  and  directed  towards  the  ceiling  the  reso- 
nant strains  of  the  following  song: 


IM 


Thx  Inconitanct  or  thx  Ballad 

I'U  tell  you  A  story,  I'll  not  keep  you    ^^, 

Concerning  a  sailor  wIkmc  name  it  was  Jchn. 

He  had  made  a  gallant  voyage  to  sea  and  just  returned  to 

shore. 
He  was  ragged  and  dirty  as  though  he  was  poor. 

He  went  to  the  house  where  he  used  to  lodge  in. 

He  called  for  a  glass  of  tlw  very  best  gin. 

"You're  welcome  home,  dear  Johnny,  you're  welcome 

home  from  sea. 
Last  ni^t  my  daughter  Folly  was  dreaming  of  thee. 

"She  dreamed  that  you  made  a  successful  voyage. 

She  dreamed  that  you  brou^t  hcnme  a  lot  of  foreign  toys." 

O,  John  he  sighed  and  said,  "My  voyage  it  has  been 

crossed. 
Upon  the  wide  ocean  our  ship  and  cargo  lost. 

Call  down  ^our  daughter  PoUy  and  set  her  down  by  me, 

And  fetch  in  some  liquor  for  us  to  have  a  spree." 

"My  daughter  Polly  is  busy,  John,  nor  shall  she  come  to 

thee. 
Nor  neither  will  I  trust  you  for  a  glass,  two,  or  three." 

O,  John  he  being  drowsy  he  hung  down  his  head. 
He  asked  for  a  candle  to  light  him  to  bed. 
"My  beds  are  all  full,  John,  and  has  been  all  the  week. 
Therefore  some  other  lodgings  you  must  go  and  seek." 

"How  much  do  I  owe  you?"  the  sailor  then  he  said. 
"Come,  make  out  your  bill,  and  down  it  shall  be  paid." 
"Five  and  forty  shillings,  John,  you  owed  to  me  of  old." 
With  that  he  pulled  out  his  two  hands  full  of  gold. 

19S 


\   .h    I 


\    .«. 


H 


I 


i  li 


1 


1-^.1'  I 


, '  I 


ll 


II; 


J1' 


U  :f 


•  ml 

I 


ThX  QuXfT  OF  THX  BaILAO 

The  li^^t  of  the  money  made  the  old  woman  nyt. 
To  see  that  the  sailor  had  plenty  for  to  gave. 
"While  you  were  in  earnest,  Jcdm,  I  am  raily  in  jest 
Of  all  my  old  boarders,  John,  I  like  you  the  best 

"I'll  call  down  my  daughter  Polly  and  set  her  on  your 

knee. 
I'll  bring  in  plenty  liquor  for  you  to  have  a  spree. 
The  green  bed  is  empty,  John,  and  has  been  all  last  week. 
Where  you  and  my  daughter  Polly  can  take  a  silent  t»l«:p." 

"Before  I'd  lie  in  your  house  I'd  lie  into  my  grave. 

You  thought  I  had  no  money.    On  me  you  played  the 

knave. 
It's  when  a  man's  got  mcmey,  he  can  rant  and  roar. 
With  brown  jugs  and  quart  mugs  and  tumblers  in  galore." 

Come  all  you  bold  sailors  that  ploughs  the  rough  main. 
That  do  earn  your  money  in  cold  winds  and  rain. 
When  you  do  get  it  pray  lay  it  up  in  store. 
Without  that  companion  you're  turned  out  of  door. 

This  was  palpably  a  version  of  the  same  song  that  Bob 
had  sung  to  me  a  year  before,  although  the  title  was  new, 
the  phraseology  differed  as  one  man's  account  of  an  inci- 
dent will  differ  from  another  man's,  and  the  tune  was  ar> 
ranged  so  as  to  bring  two  of  Bob's  shnrt-line  verses  into 
the  surf -like  roll  of  a  single  long-metre  stanza.  I  did  not 
diminish  Dick's  triumph  in  the  performance  by  telling  hiyn 
that  I  had  heard  the  song  before,  but  only  asked  him  where 
he  had  learned  it.  "Hoi  Grod  bless  me,  how  do  I  know 
where  I  lamed  it?"  roared  Dick.  "I  s'pose  it  would  be  in 
the  fo'c'stle,  when  I  was  restin'  up  after  doin'  me  turn  at 
the  wheel,  but  I  don't  know.   How  kin  ye  expect  a  man  to 

104 


Tub  IxooMiTAifCT  or  tbx  BjaiMi 
know  where  he  hunt  a  aoag  that  he'i  ben  tingin'  all  he'f 

Dick's  Tirile  mpome  to  my  pedantic  inquiry  ■J^tn.  to 
me,  on  mature  contideration,  to  be  filkd  with  a  rich  and 
powerful  iuggeitiveness.  If  it  had  come  to  my  mind  be- 
fore I  began  thii  chapter  I  might  have  been  ipared  the  ne- 
cessity of  much  solemn  reasoning  about  the  wherefore  and 
the  why  of  lines  and  phrases  which  hare  grown  up  in  the 
ballads  as  vemal  twigs  appear  upon  the  thriving  tree,  and 
the  reader  would  have  profited  by  my  abstention.  But 
even  a  belated  wisdom  is  better  than  a  continuance  in  folly, 
and  to  all  the  fruitless  inquiries  concerning  ballad  variants 
which  press  upon  me  for  further  consideration  in  this  chap- 
ter I  shall  now  oppose  the  steadfast  reply,  "God  bless  me^ 
how  do  I  know  where  th^  came  frmn?" 


105 


CHAPTER  NINE 

Nattvz  Songs  and  Traditions 

In  a  country  so  resonant  with  English  and  Scotch  bal- 
lads as  Nova  Scotia  was  fifty  years  ago  it  would  hare 
been  a  strange  thing  if  some  native  bards  had  not  been 
inspired  to  produce  poetic  narrative  of  the  traditional 
sort.  As  a  matter  of  fact  the  local  bard  seems  to  have 
been  in  those  days  a  rather  familiar  figure,  and  by  a  rare 
accident  one  may  still  find  traces  of  his  footprints  in  the 
sand — ^pious  or  lugubrious  fragments  of  song  composed  in 
honor  of  a  murder,  a  shipwreck,  or  some  such  notable 
event.  Ballad-making  is  in  a  perilous  state  when  it  is 
vivified  only  by  the  shock  of  a  sudden  horror  or  catastro- 
phe, but  it  has  never  enjoyed,  so  far  as  I  can  find,  a  mudi 
greater  security  in  Nova  Scotia — any  more  than  it  has, 
for  that  matter,  in  the  parent  country  itself  during  the  re- 
cent period  which  covers  the  settlement  of  Nova  Scotia. 

On  the  two  insistent  topics  of  murder  and  shipwreck, 
however,  many  an  inglorious  Milton  has  been  moved  to 
descant.  The  consequoit  ballads  in  most  cases  enjoyed  a 
brief  popularity  in  the  districts  where  the  events  tiiem- 
selves  were  cause  for  excitement,  and  thm  perished  with 
that  excitement.  I  have  heard,  and  have  preserved  with 
my  pen,  some  few  examples  which  have  survived  by  mere 
accidents  of  memory  in  the  repertoires  of  experienced  and 
trained  ballad-singers,  and  even  as  I  set  down  these  remi- 
niscences my  mind  is  invaded  by  certain  remembered 
scraps  of  local  song,  sudi  as 

186 


„-4'ii 


Native  Sonos  and  TRAomoNs 

The  beans  was  in  the  oven 
She'd  baked  the  night  hcror-?,. 

a  grim  suggestion  of  the  continuance  o  normal  wjncations 
m  a  household  after  its  mistress  has  be  r.  .Hnick  down  by 
the  swift  red  hand  of  murder.    When  I  encountered  this 
ballad,  years  ago,  I  was  still  in  that  unregenerate  state  in 
which  popuhw  baUads  are  occasionkUy  heard  and  ap- 
plauded as  excellent  samples  of  unconscious  humor,  so 
that  I  can  not  with  certainty  pursue  my  quotation;  but 
last  summer  I  copied  down  from  the  singing  of  the  Widow 
Pahner  a  Murder  Ballad,  or  more  properly  a  Man- 
slaughter BaUad,  which  is  so  brief  and  in  its  concluding 
admonition  so  instructive  withal  that  I  can  well  afford  to 
quote  it  in  fuU.    I  have  been  unable  to  discover  the  event 
whidi  lies  back  of  it,  and  the  Widow,  exhibiting  some 
petulance  at  my  curiosity  and  inquiring  with  a  touch  of 
asperity  what  I  saw  about  this  particular  song  that  was  so 
very  strange,  could  lend  me  no  assistance.    But  it  bears 
tte  marks  of  local  origin,  and  as  a  local  song  I  present  it 
The  title  is  "McLeUan's  Son."  P^acni  «^ 

It  was  on  September  the  eighteenth  day 

•  •  •  .  . 

A  gun  was  heard,  a  mournful  sound, 

Like  thunder  rolled  and  shook  the  ground. 

The  people  crowded  to  the  spot 

From  which  there  came  that  mournful  shock. 

And  there  in  death's  cold  fetters  bound 

A  victim  bleeding  on  the  ground. 


* 


!  J 


107 


■2L 


I 


,1 
i:       «     I   if 


The  Quest  of  the  Baixao 

It's  there  they  saw  a  man  and  gun 
Who  had  this  dreadful  murder  done. 
With  rolling  eyes  cast  on  the  ground 
He  told  the  truth  to  all  around. 

"It's  I  took  up  this  cursed  gun 
To  snap  it  off  in  careless  fun. 
When  this  poor  boy  with  spirits  large 
Came  up  the  hill  and  met  the  charge. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'd  have  you  do. 
Take  this  same  gun  and  shoot  me  too. 
Where  shall  I  hide  my  guilty  head? 
I  wish  to  God  I  too  was  dead. 

"It's  take  poor  Daniel  on  a  door 
And  lay  him  on  the  bar-room  floor. 
Send  for  a  justice  very  soon, 
And  let  the  jury  fill  the  room.' 


, »» 


The  parents  of  this  murdered  boy 
Has  given  up  all  hopes  of  joy. 
To  think  their  son  to  man  had  grown 
To  die  by  f  oUy  not  his  own. 

Take  warning,  all  you  careless  youths. 
Be  always  sure  to  speak  the  truth. 
Take  warning  by  McLellan's  son. 
Mind  how  you  trifle  with  a  gun. 

But  the  home-made  ballad  of  Nova  Scotia  was  inspired 
by  the  tragedies  of  the  ocean  more  often  than  by  those  of 
the  land.  Sometimes  it  is  an  unluckjr  or  merely  uncom- 
fortable voyage,  and  sometimes  it  is  the  ultimate  catastro- 
phe of  a  total  wreck.    In  a  peninsula  where  a  large  pro- 

168 


in 


Native  Songs  and  Txaoitions 
portion  even  of  the  viUages  are  sea-ports,  where  the  native 
industry  rsed  to  be  ship-building,  and  where  the  vessels 
were  always,  in  part  at  least,  manned  by  native  crews,  the 
adventures  of  tiie  ships  that  went  down  to  the  sea  were  of 
paramount  interest.    It  was  a  not  uncommon  thing  for  a 
jf ted  sailor  to  compose  a  song  for  his  f eUows  narrating 
tte  events  of  a  perilous  voyage,  and  often  the  crew  com- 
bmed  to  build  up,  stanza  by  stama  from  individual  contri- 
butions  a  commemorative  song  for  the  maiden  voyage  of 
anew  ship.   AU  such  baUads  are,  of  course,  local  and  ephe- 
meraJ.  wd  they  rarely  survive  except  in  chance  f ragm«its. 
The  f ^o^g  account  of  an  unhappy  voyage  will  give  a 
f«r  taste  of  tiieu-quahty.   It  was  sung  for  me  by  a  veteran 
whoremembered  tiuit  it  bad  been  composed  by  Cale  White 
of  Maitland,  one  of  the  hard-pressed  crew. 

Saint  Patrick's  day  in  sixty-five 

From  New  York  we  set  sa^l. 
Kind  Providence  did  favor  us 

With  a  sweet  and  pleasant  gale. 
We  bore  away  from  America, 

As  you  shall  understand; 
With  courage  brave  we  rode  the  waves. 

Bound  down  to  Newfoundland. 
When  two  days  out,  to  our  distress. 

Our  captain  he  fell  sick, 
And  scarcely  was  enabled 

To  show  himself  en  deck. 
The  fever  raged,  which  made  us  fear 

That  death  was  near  at  hand. 
For  Halifax  we  bore  away. 

Bound  down  to  Newfoundland. 

180 


k:  H 


lU 


t-i 


§M 


The  Quxbt  of  the  Baixad 

The  land  we  made,  but  knew  it  not, 

For  strangers  we  were  all. 
Our  captain  not  being  able 

To  come  on  deck  at  all. 

So  we  were  all  obliged  again 

To  have  her  o£F  tiom  land. 
With  saddest  hearts  we  put  to  sea. 

Bound  down  to  Newfoundland. 

All  that  night  we  ran  our  brig 

Till  early  the  next  day. 
Our  captain  getting  worse,  we  all 

With  one  accord  did  say: 

"We'll  square  away  for  Cape  Canso. 

My  boys,  now  bear  a  hand." 
In  Arishat  that  afternoon  we  anchored  safe 

Boimd  down  to  Newfoundland. 

Unto  the  board  of  health  we  then 

For  medical  aid  did  go. 
Our  captain  near  the  point  of  death 

That  symptoms  it  did  show. 
The  small-pox  now  was  breaking  out. 

For  that  it  proved  to  be. 
And  eight  days  after  we  arrived. 

At  Grod's  just  command. 
He  breathed  his  last  in  Arishat 

Bound  down  to  Newfoundland. 

Botii  day  and  night  may  we  lament 

For  our  departed  friend. 
And  pray  to  be  protected 

From  what  has  been  his  end. 

200 


t^gmmm,^ 


MMiiilHBI 


Native  Songs  and  Traditions 

Be  with  us  and  protect  us,  Grod, 

By  thy  ahnigfaty  hand. 
And  guide  us  safe  while  on  the  seas 

Bound  down  to  Newfoundland. 


This  is  a  sample  of  the  sort  of  rou£^  chronicle  ballad 
that  was  not  infrequently  produced  by  a  sailor  or  officer 
of  poetic  tendencies  who  had  played  his  part  in  the  events 
of  an  ill-fated  voyage.  It  has  tiie  air  of  robust  veracity 
and  realism  which  one  might  expect  from  an  active  partici- 
pant, and  presents  an  interesting  contrast  to  the  more 
literary  attempts  of  the  landsman  who  celebrates  in  song 
tiie  meie  clim&x  of  a  voyage  which  has  ended  in  disaster. 
The  ballad  of  the  Cedar  Grove,  a  steamer  wrecked  years 
ago  off  Cape  Canso,  has  this  effect  of  an  embellished  ac- 
coimt  from  a  person  who  has  obtained  his  information 
through  inquiry  rather  than  throu^  hard  perscmal  ex- 
perience. 

It's  of  a  noble  steamer. 

The  Cedar  Grove  by  name; 
She  crossed  the  briny  ocean. 

From  Lond(m  city  came. 

She  was  stnuigly  built  on  the  banks  of  Clyde, 

Five  hundred  tons  or  more. 
But  her  strength  it  proved  of  no  avail 

On  the  rocks  of  Canso  shore. 

The  ni^t  was  dark  and  stormy. 

The  lookout  at  his  post; 
The  first  he  saw  of  danger 

Was  breakers  on  the  coast 

Ml 


ri^! 


Thx  Qukst  of  thx  Ballad 

The  9 ignal  it  was  given 

The  engines  to  reverse, 
"To  starboard  your  hehn!"  the  captain  cries, 

"Our  ship  is  oB  her  course." 

But  still  our  noble  steamer 

She  nobly  boomed  along. 
Till  in  one  moment  a  dreadful  crash 

Brought  fear  to  every  one. 

Two  engineers  and  firemen 

Were  hard  to  work  below. 
And  by  their  perseverance 

It's  backward  she  did  go. 

On^  more  we  gained  the  deep  water. 
But  yet  our  doom  was  sealed. 

The  briny  waves  roUed  in  her  bows. 
And  then  to  port  she  keeled. 

With  a  heavy  weight  of  water. 

From  forward  it  did  flow. 
And  into  aft  compartments. 

And  down  our  ship  did  go. 

The  saddest  of  my  story 

Whidi  yet  it  doth  renuun. 
We  had  one  lady  passenger. 

Miss  Farrel  was  her  name. 

For  to  visit  some  relations 

In  the  city  of  St.  John 
She  ventured  on  the  briny  deep, 

But  now  she's  dead  and  gtme. 

sot 


m 


NaTTTS  SONO8  AND  TbAOITIONI 

A  sailor  said  he  saw  her 
In  the  cabin  door  stand  by. 

Did  grieve  his  heart  with  pity 
To  hear  her  weep  and  cry. 

He  offered  to  console  her. 
And  said,  "You'll  not  be  lost," 

And  a  moment  later  that  lady's  form 
In  the  breaking  wares  was  tossed. 

Our  steward  held  her  bravely 
Out  o'er  the  ship's  dark  rail. 

And  waiting  for  the  boats 
To  pull  up  against  the  £^e, 

A  giant  wave  swept  over 
Which  did  prevail  his  grip. 

And  then  that  lady's  tender  form 
Went  floating  from  the  ship. 

The  same  wave  took  our  captain. 

And  he  was  seen  no  more. 
Through  heavy  mist  and  darkness 

The  boats  still  lingered  near. 

Two  engineers  were  ako  lost 
Just  as  the  ship  went  down. 

Their  bodies  or  the  lady's 
Have  never  yet  been  found. 

And  now  the  ill-fated  Cedar  Grove 
On  the  bott<Hn  she  doth  lie. 

To  save  the  most  of  her  cargo 
The  divCiY  hard  did  try. 


I 


% 

J 

V 


■•:  \ 


Thx  Quest  or  thx  Ballad 

A  disfigured  body 

Was  carefully  sent  (m, 
Our  agM  honored  captain 

Who  died  while  in  ccnnmand. 

Our  cargo  was  for  Halifax, 

From  the  city  of  St.  John, 
And  to  the  latter  port 

Our  steamer  did  belong. 

She  was  strongly  built  on  the  banks  of  Clyde, 

Five  hundred  tons  or  more. 
But  her  strength  it  proved  of  no  avail 

On  the  rocks  of  Canso  shore. 

It  is  not  impossible,  of  course,  that  the  unknown  author 
of  "The  Cedar  Grove"  may  have  been  one  of  the  partici- 
pants in  the  tragic  event,  but  in  spite  of  a  steady  recur- 
rence of  the  possessive  "our"  the  ballad  has  the  appear- 
ance of  a  landsman's  composition.  It  has  the  merit  of 
being  a  tolerably  restrained  narrative,  with  no  very  ob- 
vious attempts  to  destroy  the  hearer's  peace  of  mind  or 
even  to  lure  the  kindly  moisture  from  his  eye.  But,  some- 
how, the  sli^tly  overwrou^t  incident  of  the  "lady  pas- 
senger" looms  large  before  me.  It  is  a  sinister  reminder 
of  other  ballads  where  the  tale  itself  gasps  and  chokes  and 
grows  all  but  inarticulate  in  an  atmosphere  impregnated 
with  sentimentality,  and  Nova  Scotia  has  produced  what 
mav  be  accepted,  in  the  absence  of  any  rival  hitherto  dis- 
covered, as  the  roof  and  crown  of  the  ballads  of  this  type. 
About  half  a  century  ago  a  passenger  ship  named  the  At- 
lantic was  split  on  a  great  rock  off  Prospect  Point  on  the 
south  shore  of  Nova  Scotia,  and  the  harrowing  consequen- 

S04 


mms^ 


\^ 


NaTITB  SoMOB  and  TSADinOKS 

ces,  which  by  rtBKoa  of  later  events  we  are  enabled  to 
lealiie  very  int  Jiaiely,  are  detailed  with  unctuous  fidelity 
by  a  local  bard  in  a  bdlad  of  precisely  fifty  stanzas.  The 
ballad  was  printed  on  broadside  sheets  and  distributed  far 
and  wide  throu^^out  the  province.  Today  there  is  not  a 
single  copy  in  existence,  or  if  there  is  it  has  at  least  been 
successful  in  eluding  my  search.  There  are  pienty  of  peo- 
ple in  Nova  Scotia  who  have  dim  recollecti(nis  of  the  ship- 
wreck, and  there  are  some  who  can  quote  scraps  of  the  bal- 
lad, but  the  only  perscm  I  ever  found  who  could  sing  it 
throughout  was  old  Bob  Langille,  who  by  a  prodigious 
feat  of  memory  had  mastered  it  so  completely  that  he  was 
able  to  sit  down  and,  without  any  preliminary  warning, 
sing  the  whole  fifty  stanzas  to  me  without  break  or  pause. 
I  have  shown  that  Bob  was  not  one  who  carried  his  pre- 
cious ballads  on  his  sleeve  for  daws  to  peck  at.  For  aught 
I  know  it  may  have  been  months  or  even  years  since  he 
had  sung  it  before,  and  if  I  quote  a  few  preliminary  stan- 
zas the  reader,  who  will  be  graciously  pleased  to  bear  in 
mind  that  the  full  tale  is  fifty,  may  have  some  conception 
of  what  it  used  to  mean  to  be  a  ballad-singer. 

Dear  friends,  come  listen  to  the  tale. 

The  loss  which  we  deplore 
Of  the  gallant  ship  Atlantic  lost 

On  Nova  Scotia's  shore. 

The  most  terrific  accident 

Befell  that  fated  ship 
As  she  approached  those  rocky  shores 

On  her  way  across  the  deep. 


V 


SOS 


The  Quxst  of  thk  Ballab 

The  sun  had  set  behind  the  hills, 
Xij^t  spread  her  wings  around, 

A  oigjtit  that  will  ronembered  be 
For  many  a  year  to  come. 

Alas,  a  ship,  a  noble  ship, 
That  had  the  ocean  crossed, 

And  on  the  lonely  Prospect  shore 
That  night  was  wrecked  and  lost. 

With  full  a  thousand  souls  <m  board 
Her  captain  had  no  fear. 

And  heeded  not  the  rocky  coast 
Which  he  was  drawing  near. 

Till  oh,  alas,  it  was  too  late. 

The  final  shock  was  given. 
That  noble  ship  had  struck  the  rock. 

Amidships  she  was  riven. 

The  terror-stricken  souls  on  board 
Oh,  who  could  give  them  aid? 

Unto  each  other  looked  for  help. 
Each  prayifig  to  be  saved. 

Numbers  overboard  were  washed 
And  perished  in  the  deep. 

While  others,  frozen  with  the  cold. 
Died  on  the  sinking  ship. 

Poor  helpless  women  down  below. 
Of  whom  not  one  was  saved. 

Dear  little  children  too. 
All  met  a  watery  grave. 

206 


*  MM-  9  m^^sf^rs^'w^-' 


^^^g 


HMI 


Nativx  Sokos  and  Tbaditions 

It  WM  fortunate  for  Bob  that  no  irascible  host  was  pres- 
ent to  stint  him  of  his  tale  with  ths  agtmiied  cry,  ""^^o  more 
of  this,  for  goddes  digniteel"  Chaucer  should  have  ended 
his  tale  of  Sir  Thopas  in  peace  if  I  had  been  his  audience, 
for  I  sat  without  sound  or  moan  while  Bob  proceeded 
through  <me  decade  after  another  of  this  vague  and  lugu- 
brious narrative.  The  nameless  bard  of  "The  Wreck  of  the 
Atlantic"  had  one  fierce  and  reloitless  piupose  while  he 
composed,  to  rend  his  hearers  with  an  uncontrollable  an- 
guish of  sobbing,  and  he  varied  his  mode  of  attack  with  a 
cunning  equal  to  his  ferocity.   Here  is  one  of  his  episodes: 

Amongst  the  womoi  there  were  two 

Who  down  the  waves  that  night 
Had  each  of  them  a  little  babe 

That  scarce  had  seen  the  light. 

A  lady  with  her  babe  in  arms 

Had  reached  the  deck,  we're  told. 
With  nothing  but  her  night-clothes  on 

To  shield  her  from  the  cold. 

To  save  her  life  her  slender  form 

Was  fastened  to  a  mast. 
Where  ten  long  hours  she  there  remained 

Before  she  breathed  her  last 

And  ere  she  died  her  little  babe 

Was  swept  into  the  sea. 
What  misery  did  tibat  mother  bear 

In  her  hours  of  agtmy! 

The  reader  will  note  tbat  he  is  craftily  invite<!,  in  this 
last  stan»i,  to  permit  his  imagination  to  dwell  upon  Chose 

«07 


V    I:" 


Ths  Quxst  or  tbx  Ballad 

aspects  of  the  situation  which  have  not  been  clearly  out- 
lined by  the  poet  himself .  A  little  later  the  poet  sudden^ 
realises,  with  a  white  and  consuming  rage,  that  tlis  invita- 
ticm  may  have  been  declined  or  ignored,  and  with  <liat 
thought  he  abandons  the  pitfall  and  the  mine  and  cL^ges 
upon  us  with  opoi  and  declared  f  ri|^tf  ulness. 

One  Mr.  Street,  a  gentleman. 

Quite  f  r^tic  with  despair, 
Frcnn  cabin  came,  and  in  his  arms 

His  little  dau  j^ter  bare. 

And  to  one  Ellery  he  said, 

"Pray  Charlie,  take  my  child 
That  I  may  go  my  wife  to  seek, 

The  billows  raging  wild." 

And  as  the  steward  gazed  on  the  child 

And  saw  her  face  so  fair. 
His  thoughts  went  quickly  to  his  home. 

He  had  one  like  her  there. 

The  father  did  the  mother  seek, 

But  neither  one  came  back. 
The  angry  waves  soon  swept  them  off 

From  oflF  the  sinking  wreck. 

Poor  suffering  little  innocent. 

It  cried,  "Papa,  come!" 
Its  clothes  were  thai  just  taken  from 

Its  little  bed  so  warm. 

It  cried  "Papal"  a  short  time. 

But  Papa  never  came, 
Expiring  in  the  stewards  arms 

In  agcmy  and  pain. 


iniiiii 


NAfiTx  Son  01  and  TBADmowi 

Itf  little  loul  to  heaven  flew 

To  call  its  papa  there. 
I  hope  they  hand  in  hand  will  walk 

Through  hMvaily  mannois  fair. 

After  this  we  have  left  atdy  oat  defense,  and  the  dumcet 
are  that  in  our  despair  we  shaU  take  to  it  with  craven 
alacrity.  At  least,  we  frantically  assure  ourselves,  we 
were  not  in  this  fri^^tful  wreck;  we  are  even  now  sitting 
cranf  ortably  about  (m  our  chairs  listening  to  a  mere  tale  of 
old  unhappy  far-oif  things.  But  the  cunning  bard  has 
foreseen  this  cowardly  subterfuge  long  before  it  has  en- 
tered into  our  slow  and  now  half-benumlr^J  consciousness. 
Sallying  from  an  ambush  which  he  has  carefully  prepared 
he  executes  a  swift  and  dexterous  flank  movement  which 
hurries  us  all  to  cme  fearful  and  irrevocable  doom. 

With  all  our  friends  around  us 

We  close  our  eya  in  sleep. 
Our  thoughts  will  often  wander 

Across  the  dreary  deep. 

In  grief  for  those  who  closed  their  eyes. 

Xo  thouj^ts  of  death  were  near. 
But  to  wake  a  sinking  in  the  deep. 

Shrieks  sounding  in  their  ears. 

So  it  is  with  us,  my  loving  frioids. 

There's  breakers  all  around. 
And  in  an  unexpected  hour 

The  last  great  trump  will  sound. 

The  shrieks  and  groans  and  cries  of  those 

Who  fear  the  chastming  rod 
AH  unprepared  must  thm  come  forth 

To  meet  Almi^^ty  God. 

S09 


.  m 


?  )> 


t    li 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

Let  me  hasten  to  the  rescue  of  the  gentle  and  stricken 
reader.  He  has  never,  at  least,  been  a  dastardly  mutineer. 
He  has  never  conspired  with  his  base  comrades  to  murder 
an  unsuspecting  captain  and  mate  and  throw  them  over- 
board, nor  has  he — and  now  allow  me  to  oflf«  ,  y  con- 
gratulations to  a  smiling  and  complacent  reaa^.  — been 
captured  and  tried  for  his  crime  and  hanged  upon  the  gal- 
lows tree  in  fuU  view  of  a  righteously  appeased  populace. 
Furthermore,  he  can  feel  quite  sure  that  never  will  he  be 
hanged  for  that  particular  offence.  And  now,  if  the  reader 
has  not  grown  too  self-important  to  take  an  interest  in  my 
homely  activities  I  shall  proceed,  under  his  regal  scrutiny, 
to  tack  my  clumsy  bark  through  the  laboring  Mas  of  my 
proposed  tale. 

When  I  was  a  small  boy  in  the  happy  purlieus  of  my 
father's  house  one  of  my  daily  associates  was  the  gardener 
John  Jollimore.  Some  day  I  hope  I  shall  rise  to  the  great 
task  of  depicting  John  as  he  truly  was,  but  it  is  neither 
within  my  power  nor  within  the  scope  of  my  narrative  that 
I  should  do  so  now.  For  the  present  I  am  permitted  only 
to  mention  him  as  the  person  who  introduced  my  quivering 
youthful  mind  to  the  terrific  tale  of  the  mutiny  and  whole- 
sale murder  on  the  good  ship  Saladin. 

John  was  a  man  of  superb  and  preternatural  solemnity, 
which  is  not  to  say  that  he  was  no  humorist.  He  had,  in 
his  own  queer  original  way,  a  very  pretty  wit  and  a  well 
conceived  manner  of  humorous  speech.  But  neither  his 
own  wit  nor  that  of  his  neighbor,  not  even  a  practical  joke 
itself,  could  break  that  musing  saturnine  face  into  smiles. 
On  three  occasions  only  have  I  beheld  him  writhing  in  the 
clutch  of  laughter.  On  eadi  of  these  occasions  my  bopsh 
mind  was  harrowed  with  amazement,  and  even  now  my 

210 


IMitoi 


Nauvz  Songs  jkXD  Traditiqnb 

nuihire  wisdom  can  caaly  vaguely  link  these  effects  to  their 
unnatural  causes.  The  first  was  when,  leaning  up(m  his 
garden  rake  and  gazing  down  upon  my  small  recumbent 
f onn  in  the  grass,  he  told  the  circumstantial  narrative  of 
a  gross  insult  to  his  wife.  The  second  was  whoi  he  de- 
scribed with  equal  faithfulness  the  tragic  death  of  his  be- 
loved dog  Briskinardo  (so  named,  I  need  hardly  explain, 
by  Jaha  himself)  through  the  awkwardness  of  his  myopic 
friend  Jacob  Joudry,  who  was  helping  him  .to  fell  a  tree. 
And  the  third  was  when  he  told  me  the  story  of  the  mutiny 
on  the  Saladin. 

It  was  on  a  dark  winter  evening  when  my  ccusin  and  I 
had  met  to  work  out  together  our  lesson  in  the  Latin  ac- 
cidence for  the  next  day's  recitation,  and  had  in  pursuance 
of  that  scholarly  design  repaired  secretly  to  John's  cot- 
tage, that  I  first  heard  the  story  of  the  mutiny.  John's 
imagination  always  burned  most  hotly  after  the  set  of  the 
sun.  Sometimes,  in  those  fervid  periods,  he  would  be 
wholly  given  over  to  an  exposition  of  demonoiogy  and 
witchcraft,  supporting  his  beliefs  with  ample  illustration 
out  of  his  personal  knowledge;  sometimes  he  yielded  him- 
self to  the  fascination  of  murder  and  of  mysterious  nocture 
nal  death;  and  sometimes  he  roused  himself  to  a  consider^ 
ation  of  stupendous  mechanical  devices  for  accruing  fabu- 
lous wealth,  such  as  an  improvised  cannon  that  would  bring 
down  a  whole  flock  of  wild  geese  at  one  shot  or  an  ar^ 
rangement  of  nets  that  would  infallibly  catch  every  fish 
in  the  river  in  one  night.  On  the  evening  in  question  he 
was  pondering  darkly  in  the  chimney-comer  when  we  ar* 
rived,  and  the  subject  of  his  thoughts,  as  presently  ap- 
peared, was  the  old  Saladin  story. 

The  tale  as  I  am  to  tell  it  presently  is  gathered  from 

til 


ill 


■rfr.,-^-~czy-^-r-^~r 


i^ 


"     t. 


Thk  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

more  authentic  sources  than  this,  but  in  my  own  mind  it 
will  always  take  its  peculiar  color  f ran  its  first  appearance 
in  my  ccmsdousness.  The  Saladin  songs,  also,  I  gathered 
years  afterward  in  fairly  ccnnplete  versions,  while  John's 
recital  was  a  mere  piecing  up  of  broken  verses;  but  it  will 
be  long  till  I  forget  his  rendition  of  two  stanasas,  incoher^ 
ently  brouj^t  together,  .>.i  I  have  since  ascertained,  from 
two  of  the  songs,  but  coherent  enough  in  their  suggestion 
of  the  bloody  event. 

We  shed  the  blood  of  innocence. 

The  same  I  don't  deny. 
We  washed  our  hands  in  human  blood. 

For  whidi  we  now  must  die. 

O  first  we  killed  our  captiun. 

And  then  we  killed  our  mate. 
Then  overboard  the  bos'n  threw 

Together  in  the  deep. 

This  was  harrowing  enough  to  the  imaginations  of  two 
dishonest  schoolboys  who  were  presmtly  to  make  their 
stealthy  way  home  through  the  blackness  of  a  dreary 
winter  night,  but  John,  securely  housed  in  his  own  cottage 
till  daylight  should  come,  did  not  fear  to  give  rein  to  his 
fantasy.  "My  God,  boys,"  he  entreated  us,  "jist  think  o' 
that  deck  with  the  dead  bodies  strewed  onto  it  an'  all  red 
an'  slippery  with  blood!"  Then,  for  some  reason  which  it 
would  be  idle  to  try  to  explain,  he  burst  into  an  astound- 
ing fit  of  monstrous  lau^ter. 

Since  I  am  now  to  proceed  to  the  Saladin  tale  itself  I 
shall  have  to  dismiss  John  from  my  active  consciousness, 
for  his  account  of  the  great  crime  is  only  one  of  many  dis- 

tit 


Xahye  Sonos  and  Tkaditioks 
toited  and  incomplete  veraioiu  which  I  haye  heud  at  vazi- 
ous  times.  I  shall  henceforth  be  chiefly  guided  by  the  bal- 
lads, which  were  composed  while  the  event  was  still  fresh 
gossip  in  Nora  Scotia,  and  by  the  evidence  of  the  con- 
demned mutineers  at  their  trial  in  Halifax. 

On  the  28th  day  of  April,  in  the  year  1844,  a  barque 
with  sails  set  and  royals  flying,  stranded  herself  on  a  ledge 
of  rock  oflf  Country  Harbour  cm  the  south  coast  of  Nova 
Scotia.    The  fishermen  of  the  region  pushed  out  in  gi«at 
excitement  and  found  the  vessel  securdhjr  hung  up  on  the 
reef.   The  legend  on  her  stem  proclaimed  that  she  was  the 
Saladin,  hailing  from  Newcastle,  England,  and  at  her 
prow  was  a  handsome  figure-head  representing  the  Sultan 
foriduHn  she  was  named.    Proceeding  on  board  th^  dis- 
covered a  state  of  affairs  which  partly  accounted  for  the 
insane  and  blindfold  haste  which  had  driven  the  barque  at 
a  reef  on  a  fair  day  and  under  fun  saiL    The  Saladin  was 
manned  by  six  sailors  only,  and  one  of  them  had  a  wooden 
leg  and  was  thei»  fore  of  no  use  except  for  odd  jobs  about 
the  deck.    There  was  not  an  officer  on  board,  and  the  ex- 
planations offered  by  the  seamen  for  this  and  other  sinister 
'circumstances  were  so  incoherent  that  the  visitors  decided 
to  take  the  scanty  c--  -   into  custody  and  send  word  to 
Halifax.    Affairs  :  Jowly  in  those  days,  but  before 

long  a  guard  arrive  .  ^  the  arrested  seamen  were  taken 
to  Halifax  and  placcu  oa  trial.  In  the  course  of  the  pro- 
ceedings that  followed  it  transpired  that  four  of  the  men 
had  been  guilty  of  concerted  mutiny  and  of  a  series  of 
murders  in  which  the  other  two  had  been  made  unwilling 
partners.  The  whole  affair  aroused  the  most  excited  in- 
terest throughout  Nova  Scotia.  A  series  of  ballads,  pur- 
porting to  tell  the  tale  from  the  various  angles  of  tlie  re- 

sis 


I } 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

spective  criminals,  grew  up  as  the  trial  proceeded.  So 
hmg  as  ballad-singing  maintained  its  position  among  the 
popular  entertainments  these  were  simg  at  the  homely  fire- 
sides through  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  province,  and 
to  this  day  one  may  occasionally  hear  some  village  council 
disputing  the  gruesome  details  around  a  blacksmith's 
forge  and  sununoning  reluctant  stanzas  and  lines  from  the 
vanishing  ballads  to  serve  as  evidence.  I  shall  now  go  back 
to  the  beginning  of  the  tale  as  it  shows  through  the  crimi- 
nal records,  and  when  the  plot  thickens  I  shall  permit  the 
ballads  to  play  their  part  in  the  sombre  recital. 

Near  the  end  of  the  year  1848  the  ill-starred  barque 
sailed  from  Newcastle  on  her  last  outward  trip.  She  was 
bound  for  Valparaiso,  and  was  commanded  by  Alexander 
Mackenzie,  reputed  even  in  those  days  of  absolute  ship- 
masters to  be  a  cruel  and  tyrannous  captain.  During  the 
long  voyage  out  the  crew  received  ample  and  continued 
evidence  of  the  truth  of  these  rumors,  and  on  their  arrival 
at  Valparaiso  some  of  them  deserted. 

For  the  homeward  voyage  the  barque  was  loaded  witii 
several  hundred  tons  of  guano,  seventy  tons  of  copper, 
and  about  a  ton  of  silver  in  bars  of  a  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds.  In  addition  to  the  cargo  the  captain  received  for 
transportation  about  nine  thousand  dollars  in  specie  and 
some  packets  of  letters  and  papers  for  the  Admiralty  in 
London.  Finally,  the  depleted  ranks  of  the  crew  were 
filled  in  with  sailors  "sharked  up"  in  the  usual  way  at  Val- 
paraiso. When  she  left  port  the  Saladin  was  manned  by 
the  following  crew:  James  Allen,  Samuel  Collins,  Thomas 
Moffat,  William  Travascus  (alias  Johnston),  John 
Hazleton,  and  Charles  Andersen.  These  were  the  men 
who  sailed  before  the  mast.    The  first  three,  whose  names 


S14 


Native  Songs  and  Teaditions 

MdU  not  appear  again,  and  who  themselves  were  destined 
to  a  present  and  melancholy  disappearuice,  served  on  the 
captain's  watch.  The  other  three,  whom  we  shall  have 
ample  cause  to  mention  again,  were  on  the  mate's  watch, 
and  in  their  company  we  shall  find  George  Jones,  a  dis- 
abled seaman  with  a  wooden  leg,  who  was  working  his  way 
home  as  a  sail-maker.  The  cook  and  steward  were,  re- 
spectively, William  Carr  and  John  Galloway.  The  first 
mate  was  Thomas  Byerley.  The  second  mate,  who  was 
also  ship's  carpenter,  is  mentioned  only  as  one  of  the  first 
to  be  murdered  and  thrown  overboard. 

So  much  for  the  constitution  of  the  officers  and  crew, 
but  the  central  figure  in  the  crime  has  yet  to  be  introduced. 
When  the  ship  was  loading  in  Valparaiso  Captain  Mac- 
kenzie contracted  a  friendship  with  a  man  who  is  described 
as  "a  fiend  in  human  shape."  This  was  Captain  Fielding, 
«x-3muggler,  ex-pirate,  and  perpetual  villain.  His  vessel, 
the  Victory,  had  been  seized  at  some  port  on  the  Pacific 
coast  for  smuggling  and  other  illicit  traffic,  and  he  was 
now  in  Valparaiso  with  his  son  waiting  for  something  to 
turn  up.  He  learned  of  the  rich  cargo  that  was  being 
shipped  on  board  the  Saladin,  and  with  that  in  view  pre- 
sented himself  to  Mackenzie  as  a  destitute  brother-captain 
desirous  of  returning  to  England.  Mackenzie,  who  with 
all  his  hotness  and  irascibility  seems  to  have  been  a  gen- 
erous and  singularly  unsuspicious  person,  at  once  granted 
the  pair  a  free  passage  home.  The  baUad  of  Charles  Gus- 
tav  (or  Augustus)  Andersen  introduces  this  areh-plotter 
in  a  barst  of  remorseful  recollection. 

They  shipped  me  on  board  the  Sakdin, 

As  you  shall  understand. 
She  was  bound  for  Valparaiso. 

Mackenzie  had  command. 

SIS 


I 


It  M  : 


The  Qusst  of  the  Ballad 

We  arrived  there  in  safety 

Without  the  least  delay. 
Till  Fielding  came  tax  board  of  her. 

Curse  on  that  fatal  day  I 

'Twas  Fielding  who  induced  us 

To  do  that  horrid  crime. 
We  mig^t  have  prevented  it 

If  we  had  thought  in  time. 

We  shed  the  blood  of  innocence, 

The  same  I  don't  deny. 
We  washed  our  hands  in  human  blood. 

For  which  we  have  to  die. 

Fielding's  plan  was  to  get  control  of  the  ship  and  her 
cargo,  and  to  this  end  he  worked  steadily  and  patiently 
from  the  day  they  put  to  sea.   His  chief  ally  in  this  enter- 
prise was  the  unsuspecting  captain  himself,  who  lost  no 
opportunity  to  make  himself  hated  and  feared  by  his  crew. 
Jones,  the  crippled  sail-maker,  was  the  first  to  come  under 
Fielding's  influence,  and  at  his  trial  he  testified  that  he  had 
repelled  Fielding's  first  advances  and  had  tried  to  warn  the 
captain,  who  had  refused  to  Usten  and  had  blasphemously 
ordered  him  to  get  back  to  his  work.    The  next  to  be  won 
over  was  Hadeton.    Travascus  soon  followed,  and  now 
the  only  man  strictly  necessary  to  complete  the  group  was 
the  young  Swede  Andersen,  the  remaining  member  of  the 
mate's  watch.    Andersen  seems  to  have  been  an  honest 
youth  with  little  taste  for  treasons  and  strategems,  and  it 
was  quite  possible  that  he  might  have  been  the  effective 
barrier  in  the  way  of  the  conspirators;  but  at  the  oppor- 
tune time  the  cynical  gods  inspired  Captain  Mackenzie  to 
leap  upon  him  while  he  was  doing  duty  at  the  helm  and 

816 


Natitx  Sovai  akd  Tbaditions 

beet  him  severely  for  no  apparent  good  reaiOD.  The  oon- 
spinion  o£Fered  him  his  rerenge,  and  he  accepted  the  offer. 
The  Saladin  had  sailed  from  Valparaiso  on  the  8th  day 
of  February.  Two  months  had  paued  while  Fidding  was 
slowly  and  cautiously  mustering  his  forces  for  the  mutiny, 
and  the  barque  was  now  heading  up  along  the  east  coast 
of  South  America  about  two  degrees  north  of  the  equator. 
The  conspirators  arranged  to  strike  their  blow  on  the  ni^^ 
of  the  18th  of  April  during  the  mate's  watch — ^tiuit  is, 
when  they  would  nonnally  be  serving  tlwir  turn  on  deck 
and  when  the  otlmr  seamoi  would  be  in  their  bunks.  Jcmes, 
the  crippled  sail-maker,  was  of  course  on  neither  watch, 
and  it  was  arranged  that  the  signal  for  starting  the  ac- 
tivity should  be  his  appearance  on  deck.  Then  under  the 
leadership  of  Fielding  they  were  to  proceed  to  murder  Hx 
officers  and  the  sailors  of  the  captain's  watch.  For  some 
reason,  however,  Jones  failed  to  appear  that  night,  and 
nothing  was  done.  Next  day  Fielding  managed  to  get  a 
secret  interview  with  Jones,  who  had  apparently  been 
overcome  by  fear,  and  rated  him  so  bitterly  for  his 
cowardice  that  when  the  following  ni^t  came  around  he 
took  the  easier  way  and  gave  the  appointed  signal.  Then 
the  four  mutineers,  led  by  Fielding,  and  armed  with 
knives,  proceeded  aft  to  the  cabin  to  begin  the  night's  work. 

On  the  fourteenth  nij^t  of  April, 

I  am  sorry  to  relate. 
We  began  the  desperate  enterprise 

By  killing  first  the  mate. 

And  thai  we  killed  the  carpenter. 

And  overboard  them  threw; 
The  captain  next  we  put  to  death. 

And  three  more  of  the  ovw. 
sir 


i' 


1  •! 


>l     i 


Thk  Quxst  or  ths  Baxxad 

The  watch  were  in  their  hammocks 

When  the  work  of  death  begun. 
They  were  all  killed  as  they  came  up. 

We  killed  them  one  by  <nie. 

These  poor  unhappy  victims 

Lay  in  their  beds  asleep. 
We  called  them  up  and  murdered  them 

And  threw  them  in  the  deep. 

As  the  ballad  indicates,  the  mutineers,  after  murdering 
the  officers  (the  carpenter,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  also 
the  second  mate)  proceeded  forward  and  called  out  the 
sleeping  sailors  one  by  one,  striking  them  down  as  they 
emerged  on  deck.  Carr  and  Galloway,  the  cook  and  stew- 
ard, were  still  below,  but  becoming  alarmed  at  the  noise 
of  scuffling,  they  now  barricaded  themselves  and  refused 
to  come  out,  and  the  mutineers  finally  agreed  to  spare 
them  on  condition  that  they  should  take  an  oath  of  secrecy. 
Then,  their  labors  crowned  with  success,  the  whole  party 
retired  to  the  cabin,  where  Fielding  made  each  man  swear 
on  the  Bible  that  he  would  maintain  inviolate  secrecy  and 
fidelity  to  the  cause;  after  which,  as  a  practical  demonstra- 
tion of  good  faith,  he  collected  the  axes,  revolvers,  and 
knives,  and  ostentatiously  threw  them  overboard. 

Fielding's  plan  for  utilizing  the  treasure  on  board  1  ad 
been  carefully  thought  out,  and  he  now  revealed  it  to  his 
followers.  He  Mmself  was  a  skilful  and  experienced 
navigator,  and  it  so  happened  that  he  was  thoroughly  fa- 
miliar wii  the  eastern  coast  and  waters  of  Canada.  He 
proposed,  therefore,  to  strike  north  to  a  lonely  part  of  the 
west  coast  of  Newfoundland,  conceal  the  treasure  there, 
scuttle  the  ship  m  deep  water,  take  to  the  long-boat  and 

SIS 


Xatitx  Sokm  A3XP  Teaditions 

Mil  up  the  riTcr  St  Lawrence  to  a  i^aoe  of  safety,  and 
diere  abide  quietiy  until  people  should  cease  to  speculate 
on  the  mjrsterious  disappearance  of  the  Saladin.  Then 
ihey  would  secure  a  small  coasting  vessel  and  return  to 
N^^oundknd  for  the  treasure. 


It  was  on  a  Sin^y  morning, 

The  wo  A  of  deatii  was  done. 
When  Fielding  took  the  Bible 

And  swore  us  every-  me. 

The  tempting  prise  before  his  eyes 

He  kept  it  still  in  view, 
And  like  a  band  of  brothers 

We  were  swmn  to  be  true. 

"Our  firearms  and  weapcms 

Well  all  throw  in  the  deep. 
And  then  we'll  steer  for  Newfoundland 

If  prevailing  winds  will  keep. 

"And  secrete  all  our  treasures  tlwre 

In  some  secluded  place." 
Had  it  not  been  for  his  treachery 

That  might  have  been  the  case. 

The  last  two  lines  of  my  quotation  carry  the  hint  of  a 
new  and  sinister  cmnplication.  This  "treachery"  for  which 
the  doomed  sailors  thus  bitterly  reproach  Fiel(^ng  in  retro- 
spect seems  to  have  been  with  him  an  instinct  so  persistent 
and  compelling  that,  "like  the  villain  in  the  old  play,"  he 
was  bound  sooner  or  later  to  lose  himself  in  the  mazes  of 
his  own  tortuous  schemes.  A  day  or  two  after  the  new 
regime  had  been  established  he  gave  orders  that  Carr  and 

S19 


vn 


"4 


J 


'1 


Tbb  Qum  or  thx  Ballad 

Galloway,  the  cook  and  steward,  should  sleep  in  the  fore- 
castle, and  suggested  to  his  f eUow-murderers  tiiat  these 
two  men  omild  now  be  di^KMcd  of  in  the  familiar  way. 
But  his  men  balked  at  this  proposal  They  had  supped 
full  with  horrors,  and  had  no  appetite  for  more.  It  may 
well  have  struck  them  that  this  cold-blooded  leader  must 
have  beer,  planning  no  less  complete  a  program  than  the 
gradual  eliminati(m  of  all  his  associates  and  the  full  pos- 
session of  the  treasure.  Whether  it  was  this,  or  whether 
there  was  somethmg  vaguely  menacing  in  Fielding's  at- 
titude towards  them,  at  any  rate  they  began  vdiementty 
to  suspect  him,  and  Traviscus  was  secretty  deputed  to 
find  an  opportunity  to  search  the  cabin.  The  search  re- 
vealed a  brace  of  pistols  and  a  knife  carefuUy  concealed 
among  Fielding's  belcmgings.  There  could  now  be  no 
doubt  as  to  their  leader's  ultimate  intent,  and  after  a  hur- 
ried consultation  the  men  rushed  upon  Fidding  and  his 
son  and  fettered  than  securely  with  ropes.  Carr  and  Gal- 
loway were  accomplices  in  this  new  mutiny,  and  as  they 
were  the  only  ones  who  had  not  yet  "washed  their  hands  in 
human  blood"  they  were  elected  to  throw  the  two  victims 
overboard. 


We  found  with  Captain  Fielding, 
For  which  he  lost  his  life, 

A  brace  of  loaded  pistols, 
Likewise  a  carving  knife. 

We  suspected  him  of  treachery. 
Which  did  enrage  the  crew. 

He  was  seized  by  Carr  and  Galloway, 
And  overboard  was  threw. 


Natitz  Sovof  jam  Tkadriohi 

Hit  son  cried  out  for  metcy. 

He  being  left  akoe. 
But  hit  entreaty  was  cut  off. 

There  was  no  merqr  sbown. 

We  lerved  him  like  his  father 

Who  found  a  wateiy  grave. 
For  we  buried  son  and  father 

Beneath  the  briny  wave. 

The  immediate  peril  was  now  disposed  of;  but  it  is  tiw 
way  of  plots  to  thicken  as  they  proceed,  and  even  now 
"this  even-handed  justice"  was  extending  to  the  wretched 
mutineers  their  own  poiscmed  chalice  to  drain  to  its  last 
dregs.  Fielding  had  been  at  least  an  intelligent  and  in- 
ventive lea^r  and  a  skilful  navigator,  and  now  there  was 
no  man  left  in  the  company  who  had  more  than  an  ele- 
mentary knowledge  of  navigation.  Galloway  the  steward 
knew  a  little  more  than  the  others,  and  he  was,  in  default 
of  a  bettor,  elected  to  Fielding's  place.  They  knew  of  no 
likelier  sdieme  than  the  erne  which  their  dead  leader  had 
outlined,  and  though  not  one  of  them  had  the  sli^test 
knowledge  of  the  northern  coast  tb^  kept  on  their  sup- 
posed course  for  Newfoundland.  Their  one  desperate 
need  now  was  to  get  the  whole  business  over  quickly,  and 
they  crowded  upon  the  staggering  barque  every  indi  of 
canvas  that  she  would  carry.  The  first  murders,  it  will 
be  remembered,  had  taken  place  on  the  niphl  if  tiie  14th 
of  April,  and  about  two  degrees  north  of  the  equator.  On 
the  28th  day  of  the  same  montii  the  Saladia,  after  a  re- 
markably swift  passage,  came  within  sight  of  her  ultimate 
sea-mark  on  the  south  shore  of  Nova  Scotia.  The  sailors 
supposed  that  th^  were  nearing  their  appoiiited  goid  <m 

ftl 


M 


i. 


Thb  Qum  or  thk  Ballad 

the  coMt  of  Newfoundland,  wui  in  their  hMte  to  findan- 
ehoring  ground  well  inihore  tiiey  dn  ve  their  hard-preMed 
barque  f uU  tilt  upon  the  reef. 

We  tailed  the  ihip  before  the  wind. 

As  we  could  do  no  more, 
And  on  the  twenty-eighth  of  April 
Were  shipwredced  on  th«  fiiore. 

We  were  all  apprehended 

And  into  prison  cast. 
Tried  and  were  found  guilty* 

And  senteiMX  en  us  passed. 

Four  of  us  are  now  condenmed 

And  ready  for  to  die. 
And  the  day  of  executicm 

Is  the  thirtieth  of  July. 

At  the  trial  in  HaUfax  both  Carr  and  Galloway  turned 
Queen's  evidence.    They  had  not  been  in  the  original  con- 
spiracy, the  part  that  they  had  played  in  the  second  kill- 
mg  had  been  thrust  upon  them  by  their  comrades,  md  it 
could  hardly  be  accounted  to  them  for  unrighteoumess 
that  they  had  been  the  slayers  of  Fielding.    At  any  rate 
they  were  acquitted.    Andersen,  Jones,  Travascus,  and 
Hazelton  were  hanfjed  on  the  80th  of  July,  1844,  upon  a 
gallows  erected  on  the  South  Common  in  Halifax,  and  in 
the  last  scene  of  this  humble  tragedy  Jones  the  sail-maker 
stumped  out  upon  his  wooden  leg  to  the  front  of  the  scaf- 
fold and  addressed  the  throng  of  spectators,  avowing  "  is 
guilt  and  solemnly  adjuring  the  young  men  to  take  warn- 
ing from  the  bitter  example  which  was  now  to  be  consian- 
mated  before  their  eyes. 


If  ATiTi  Soma*  akd  TEAwnom 

If  I  Imt  ^reft  at  exceeding  length  upon  the  meUn- 
thsAy  deUib  wliich  foitu  the  backgroimd  of  the  SaUdm 
songs  I  have  lane  so  b«»itte  I  have  found  in  this  epi»«  ie 
a  rare  opportunity  to  «tenm»strute  the  relatitmship  which 
pxetty  constantly  exists  be*  weea  the  popular  ballad  ai,d 
the  actual  incident  frura  which  it  spnngA.  It  is  not  al- 
ways, of  course,  that  the  ball*. I  grows  »o  dife-  *Iy  and  con- 
tanporai^coufily  cmt  of  th«  fact  as  d  doea  in  this  caac.  Fre- 
quently it  dispU  8  besi .  the  met  certi  those  super- 
natural and  icg  Jidarj  ^o<  retion  w»  ^di  so  quickly  attach 
tlwin  «lves  to  a  t»h  on  it*?  oral 
is  to  present  a  tr*  e  stor>  of  m 
from  a  point  of  v  ew  as  near  a- 
In  the  f«aap  isi^ion  )f  th?^  mpic 
an  older  lenod  this  *nxiet  ^  s  we 
introduc  ■.<m  of  ar  specif  ii»  sind 
bare  story  was  =*}  d 
jead^r  need  'ThIy  turn 


ad   Hi 


its  avowed  aim 

t  incit^ent  seal 

tha     ncident. 

aified      Uads  of 

L  kuuw,  pret    Jed  the 

omamoitation.    The 

rest  (HI  its  own  merits,  and  the 

to  the  versions  which  I  have 


quoted  of  "L.lUe  Mus^  ave"  and  of  "Lord  Thomas  and 
Fair  Eilino  '  to  reali»  ^  tresh  how  great  those  merits  were 
But,  unhap,  'y,  the  lit  ?  ry  movement  which  in  the  eighi 
eeoth  century  int  on  uc  .  ser  timentalism  as  the  approved 
atmosphere  in  w  h  o  vie  unhappy  and  tragic  occur- 
raoets  ultimately  w  ^ed  down  to  the  humblest  order  of 
poe*s  ana  in  the  nineteenth  century  few  tragic  ballads 
were  comp*  ed  whi  a  did  not  clothe  the  event  in  a  flaunt- 
^  Si*  (rf  ratuitous  mourning.  Of  the  Saladin  songs 
the  worst  in  this  respect  is  the  one  narrfttmg  the  episode 
froi  the  point  f  view  of  Charles  Augustus  (or  Gustav) 
Anirsen.  Th  J  s  ballad,  from  which  I  have  freely 
quoted  in  my  n.  ative  of  the  mutiny,  is  a  comparatively 
severe  accoimt  ot  the  event,  but  in  the  lachrymose  confes- 


li 


\   '  \y  s' 


\ 


Thx  Quxst  or  thx  Ballad 

sion  of  Charles  Augustus  one  catches  <mly  rare  glimpses 
of  narration  floating  like  drift-wood  upcm  the  surface  of 
a  turbid  sea  of  sensibility;  and  the  humble  bostKn  has  in  a 
degenerate  age  beoxne  so  attuned  to  the  tearful  appeal 
that  this  is  the  particular  Saladin  ballad  that  has  been 
singled  out  for  widest  popularity.  It  may  be  instructive 
to  place  it  now  against  the  somber  background  of  the  un- 
adorned tale  as  I  have  related  it: 

Come  all  ye  human  countrymen,  witii  pity  lend  an  ear 
And  hear  my  feeling  story.    Tou  can't  but  shed  a  tear. 
I'm  here  in  dose  confinement,  bound  down  in  irons  strong. 
Surrounded  by  strong  granite  walls  and  sentenced  to  be 
hung. 

Charles  Augustus  Andersen  is  my  rig^t  and  proper  name. 
Since  I  came  to  custody  I  ne'er  denied  the  same. 
I  came  of  decent  parents  althouj^  I  die  in  scorn. 
Belieye  me  now  I  much  lamoit  that  ever  I  was  bom. 

My  father  was  a  shipwright.   I  might  have  been  the  same. 
He  taught  me  good  examples.    To  him  I  leave  no  blame. 
Likewise  my  tender  mother  for  me  did  suffer  sore. 
When  she  hears  the  sad  announcement  I'm  sure  she'll 
suffer  more. 

O  dear  and  loving  mother,  if  I  could  see  your  face 
I'd  kiss  your  lips  with  tenderness  and  take  your  last  em- 
brace. 
I'd  bathe  you  in  my  tears  of  grief  before  my  final  hour. 
I'd  then  submit  myself  to  God,  his  holy  will  and  power. 

Farewell,  sisters  and  brothers  that's  dear  unto  me, 
So  far  beymd  the  ocean  whose  face  I  ne'er  can  see. 
Those  happy  days  I  spent  with  you  upon  my  native  shore! 
Farewell,  sweet  Uddivolla,  I  ne'er  shall  see  you  more. 

SS4 


Natiyx  Songs  aitd  Tsaditionb 

If  I  could  recall  those  days  again  how  happy  I  should  be 
To  live  at  home  among  my  friends  in  love  and  unity. 
Wlien  I  think  of  former  innocence  and  those  I  left  behind 
'Tis  God  and  him  alone  that  knows  the  horrors  of  my  mind. 

No  books  of  c(msolation  arc  here  that  I  can  read,    . 
I  profess  the  Church  of  England.  By  nation  I'm  a  Swede. 
Those  words  that  are  addressed  to  me  I  can't  well  under- 
stand. 
So  I  must  die  like  a  heathen  all  in  a  foreign  land. 

'Twas  in  the  town  of  Gothenburg  where  I  was  bred  and 

bom. 
Here  in  the  city  of  Halifax  I  end  my  days  in  scorn. 

0  pity  my  misfortunes  and  warning  take  by  me 
To  shun  all  bad  company  and  beware  of  mutiny. 

Since  I  left  my  tender  parents  'tis  but  four  years  ago. 
This  awful  fate  awaited  me,  but  little  did  I  know. 

1  got  into  bad  company,  which  has  induct  me 
To  become  a  murderer  and  a  pirate  on  the  sea. 

They  shipped  me  on  board  the  Saladin,  as  you  will  under- 
stand. 

She  was  bound  for  Valparaiso.    Mackenzie  had  command. 
We  arrived  there  in  safety  without  the  least  delay, 
Till  Fielding  came  on  board  of  her.    Curse  on  that  fatal 
dayl 

'Twas  Fielding  who  induced  us  to  do  that  horrid  crime. 
We  might  have  prevented  it  if  we  had  thought  in  time. 
We  shed  the  blood  of  innocence,  the  same  I  dcm't  deny. 
We  stained  our  hands  in  human  blood  for  which  we  have 
to  die. 


MS 


*    v'! 


IU1I 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

0  Lord,  I  fear  your  vengeance.    Your  judgment  much 

I  dread. 
To  appear  before  your  judgment  seat  with  hands  imbrued 
in  blood. 

1  fear  your  indignation.    Your  pardon  still  I  crave. 
Dear  Lord,  have  mercy  on  my  soul  beyond  the  gloomy 

grave. 

The  sheriff  and  his  officers  all  came  to  him  in  jail. 
He  knew  the  fate  awaited  him,  but  never  seemed  to  fail. 
They  placed  the  final  halter  on  to  end  all  shame  and  strife. 
With  his  own  hand  he  greased  the  cord  that  cut  the  thread 
of  life. 

They  led  him  to  a  lonely  spot  and  to  that  awful  stand. 
He  viewed  the  briny  ocean  and  then  the  pleasant  land. 
The  rope  of  justice  slipped  the  ring,  which  quickly  stopped 

his  breath. 
Thus  ended  his  career  in  the  violent  pains  of  death. 

The  Saladin  songs,  by  reason  of  their  rich  backgroimd 
of  attested  fact,  mark  the  high-water  limit  of  interest  in 
Nova  Scotian  production,  and  I  shall  not  precipitate  an 
anti-climax  by  returning  to  examples  of  such  unattached 
song  as  I  considered  earlier  in  the  chapter.  It  seems  quite 
possible,  even  to  me,  that  I  have  found  in  this  combina- 
tion of  song,  tale,  and  legal  record  more  interest  than  it 
intrinsically  possesses,  but  the  conviction  of  sucL  bias  I 
should  receive  without  shame.  Very  early  in  life  I  came 
under  the  spell  of  singers  and  narrators  who  wove  the  story 
into  my  personal  experience  as  effectively  as  if  I  myself 
had  been  a  cabin-boy  on  the  ill-starred  barque,  and  in  re- 
cent years  I  have  speculated  many  a  time  on  the  dark 
events  which  must  lie  behind  those  century-old  ballads  of 
the  folk  just  as  the  true  tales  of  Jones,  Hazleton,  Travas- 
cus,  and  Andersen  lie  behind  the  Saladin  songs. 


CHAPTER  TEN 

The  Decline  of  Ballad-Singing 
The  mournful  truth  that  most  constantly  obtrudes  it- 
j«l^upon  the  collector  is  that  the  oral  prop^tiTorbi^- 
lads  has  m  our  day  and  generation  ahnost^.  Andi. 
Z^J  Pf '  hav^  t*ken  a  rather  special  interest  in  at- 
tempting to  discover  the  causes  ihat  have  conspired" 
bnng  about  this  condition  in  my  chosen  field.  My^ef 
souree  of  mf  ormation  has  been  the  scattered  band  of  hoary- 
hau^d  smgers  who  still  remember  the  days  when  baUad- 

smgmg  was  a  dignified  means  for  entertiUning  a  respert- 
able  company,  and  not,  as  it  now  is,  the  chanc:pos«S 
of  a  few  queer  old  people  who  continue  to  dish^or  their 
gray  locks  bv  chanting  songs  that  up-to-date  people  have 
?  w'o^^r^**^^'*  *"  "^  *°-    From  ther^tnesses 

p^mted  to  the  conclusion  that  those  processes  which  in  the 
old  comity  have  taken  centuries  in  ihe  working  out  have 
m  Nova  Scotia  proceeded  from  the  begimiing  t  the  end 
in  the  course  of  three  or  four  generations.  A  brief  con- 
Sf^ST.     f '  ^™'*"  °^  ballad-singing  in  Nova  Sco- 

L      ^^'T^T  P'^*'  ^  miniature,  a  very  suggestive 
5:n*J:u!"^'  '"^^^«^*  ^'  folk-lo^tow^i^J 

The  fi«t  w:*a.s8  that  I  shaU  select  is  old  James  Isa«; 
Mwdonald,  .  ^.^  Nova  Scotian  whom  I  discov^^ 

tT!  ^^"^'^  ^"^  T^*'  ™'^*^'^  «P  "<J  down  u^ 
the  earth  m  pm-suit  of  ballad-lore.    When  I  made  the^^ 

W7 


}' 


H'' 


i. 


\V 


\ 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

quaintance  of  James  Isaac  he  was  living  in  Tatamagouche, 
a  sea-port  town  on  the  north  shore  of  Nova  Scotia;  but  he 
had  been  bom,  and  had  spent  the  first  forty  years — that  is, 
the  first  half — of  his  life  at  the  West  River,  an  inland  dis- 
trict peopled  by  Scotch  settlers.  During  his  early  days  at 
the  West  River  ballad-singing  had  been  in  full  swing,  and 
he  himself,  as  he  proudly  averred,  had  been  one  of  the 
most  gifted  of  the  singers.  From  this  high  estate  he  had 
long  since  fallen,  but  there  still  remained,  in  the  unused 
comers  of  his  mind,  some  recollections  that  will  serve  to 
illuminate  the  tragical  history  of  the  popular  ballad. 

The  West  River  district  was  settled,  during  the  latter 
half  of  the  eighteenth  century,  by  Scotch  people,  some 
from  the  Highlands  and  scmie  from  the  Lowlands. 
Throu^  the  first  half  of  the  nineteoith  century  new  set- 
tlers kept  arriving,  and  thus  the  people  of  the  district  were 
kept  in  pretty  close  touch  with  the  parent  country.  James 
Isaac's  parents  came  out  about  1820,  and  according  to  his 
account  they  sang  innumerable  s<Migs  of  old  Scotland, 
some  of  them  recorded  on  broadside  sheets  whidi  were 
carefully  treasured  in  the  family.  Also,  as  far  back  as  he 
could  remember,  his  parents  "kept  the  Post-Office"  at  the 
West  River, — ^which  means  simply  that  the  mails  were 
brought  to  their  house  for  distribution — and  he  had  a  6lear 
recollection  of  the  occasional  arrival  of  newly-printed 
broadsides  f rcmi  the  old  country,  for  his  own  family  and 
for  oUier  people  in  the  community. 

It  meant  something  to  have  a  store  of  ballads  at  one's 
command  in  those  days.  The  old  man  grew  large  and 
bland  with  complacency  as  he  recounted  to  me  an  occasion 
when  he  had  squarely  established  his  supremacy  in  a  big 
ballad-contest,  which  came  about  in  the  following  way. 

tit 


mmm 


■3 


The  Declink  of  BAU.Ai>-SiNomo 

One  winter,  when  he  was  a  young  man,  he  rode  down  to 
Pictou  to  take  the  boat  for  Charlottetown,  which  is  situ- 
ated on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Nortiiumberland  Strait 
A  storm  came  up,  the  boat  could  not  leave  at  the  appoint- 
ed time,  and  James  Isaac  was  compeUed  to  take  refuge  at 
an  inn  along  with  a  group  of  travellers  whose  journey  had 
also  been  interrupted.  After  suppo*  it  was  proposed  that 
the  tedium  of  the  evening  should  be  relieved  by  a  "singing- 
match,"  to  last  until  one  of  the  company  should  stand  out 
as  undisputed  champion.  So  the  contest  began,  one  singer 
matching  another  until  long  after  midnight,  when  every- 
body was  "sung  out"  except  James  Isaac  and  a  resource- 
ful stranger  from  the  south  shore.  The  latter  held  out  for 
some  time  longer,  but  finally  was  driven  to  admit  that  he 
had  r^uihed  his  last  song.  Then  did  James  Isaac  proceed 
to  bear  his  unblushing  honors  thick  upon  hiuL  "What, 
man  I"  he  cried  to  his  fallen  adversary,  in  a  craftily-as- 
sumed tone  of  surprise,  'T>on't  say  ye'ie  through  already  I 
Why,  God  bless  me,  I  hae  fifty  more  on  the  tip  o*  me 
tongue!" 

This  was  a  tale  of  doughty  deeds  performed  in  the  far 
distant  past  When  I  encountered  old  James  Isaac  Mac- 
donald  he  had  no  fiffy  ballads  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue, 
and  the  story  of  his  downf aU  is  this.  When  about  forty 
years  old  he  had  moved  to  Tatamagouche,  a  sea-port  town 
peopled  by  descendants  of  English,  Scotch,  and  Frendi 
settlers;  and  as  he  had  a  fair  education  for  his  day,  and  a 
strong  ambition  to  entertain  in  any  way  that  mig^t  be  ac- 
ceptable to  his  neighbors,  he  soon  became  reasonably 
prominent  in  the  social  life  of  the  community.  Ballad- 
singing  was  now  becoming  an  antiquated  and  scarcely  re- 
spectable performance,  especially  in  such  a  community  as 

tt0 


I*  ii 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

Tatamagouche,  where,  as  I  shaU  explain  later,  social  in- 
fluences were  operating  that  were  inimical  to  the  life  and 
growth  of  folk-lore.  James  Isaac,  though  he  never  thouj^t 
of  despising  the  ballads  he  had  once  held  so  dear,  natur- 
aUy  enough  permitted  himself  to  forget  aU  about  them, 
and  turned  his  attention  to  the  sort  of  music  in  vogue 
among  the  people  whom  he  wished  to  entertain.  I  pro- 
cured only  three  or  four  ballads  from  him,  all  of  them  in 
more  or  less  battered  condition.  The  one  that  he  remem- 
bered best  was  "The  Blaeberry  Courtship,"  a  tale  of  the 
prosperous  suitor  who  disguises  himself  as  a  humble  peas- 
ant in  order  to  win  the  hand  of  his  chosen  lass  through  his 
own  unaided  attractions.  The  ballad  was  long  and  in- 
volved, but  James  Isaac  had  retained  his  grip  on  it  through 
the  years  of  neglect  because  one  of  his  friends  at  the  West 
River  had  been  very  fond  of  it  and  had  always  asked  him 
to  sing  it  for  her  on  his  visits  to  his  former  home.  This 
friend  was  an  old  Scotchwcnnan  who  had  left  the  High- 
lands in  her  girlhood;  and  if  I  present  the  ballad  whidi  so 
vividly  recalled  for  her  the  blaeberries  and  the  hea&er  of 
her  native  mountains  the  reader  will  easily  understai^  her 
eagerness  to  nourish  it  during  the  long  years  of  her  so- 
journ in  a  foreign  land. 

The  Blaebehry  Couetbhip 
"Will  ye  gang  to  the  Hig^ands,  my  jewel,  wi'  me? 
Will  ye  gang  to  the  Highlands  my  flock  for  to  see? 
It  is  health  to  my  jewel  to  breathe  the  fresh  air 
And  to  pu'  the  blaeberries  in  the  forest  sae  fair." 

"In  the  Highlands,  my  jewel,  I'll  no  gang  wi'  thee. 
For  the  road  it  is  lang  and  hills  they  are  hie. 
For  I  love  these  low  valleys  and  the  sweet  corn-fields 
Before  all  the  blaeberries  your  wild  mountains  yields." 

sso 


V 


n 


The  Decline  of  Baixao-Sinoiko 

"O  the  hills  are  bonny  where  the  heather's  in  bloom; 
'Twould  cheer  a  fine  fancy  in  the  month  o'  June 
To  pu'  the  blaeberries  and  cany  them  home 
And  set  them  on  your  table  when  December  c(nnes  on." 

Then  up  spake  the  f  aither,  that  saucy  old  man, 

"Ye  mi^t  a  chosen  a  mistress  amang  ye're  ain  clan. 

It's  but  poor  oitertainment  for  our  lowland  dames 

For  to  promise  them  berries  when  the  wild  heather  blooms. 

"Take  up  ye're  green  plaidie,  walk  over  yon  hill, 
For  the  sight  o'  your  Highland  face  does  me  much  ilL 
I'll  wed  my  own  daughter  and  spend  pennies  too. 
To  whom  my  heart  pleases,  and  what's  that  to  you?" 

He  called  on  his  daughter,  he  gave  her  an  advice, 
Saying,  "If  ye'll  gang  wi'  him  I'm  sure  ye're  not  wise. 
He's  a  poor  Hielan'  fellow,  he's  as  poor  as  a  crow. 
Of  the  clan  o'  the  Caterans  for  aught  we  may  know. 

"But  if  ye  gang  wi'  him  I'm  sure  ye'll  gang  bare. 
Ye'll  get  naething  that  faither  or  mither  can  spare. 
Of  all  ye  possess  I'll  deprive  ye  for  aye 
If  o'er  the  hills,  lassie,  ye  gang  away." 

"Keep  back  ye're  hand,  faither,  ye're  no  willin'  to  give. 

Bat  I'll  fain  go  wi'  him  as  sore  as  I  live. 

What  signifies  gold  or  treasure  to  me 

When  the  Highland  hills  is  'tween  my  love  and  me?" 

Now  she's  awa'  wi'  him  in  spite  o'  them  a', 
Awa'  to  a  place  which  her  eyes  never  saw. 
He  had  no  a  steed  for  to  carry  her  on. 
But  aye  he  said,  "Lasse,  think  na  the  road  long." 

SSI 


I  I    ' 


i' 


f 


The  Quavr  of  the  Ballad 

In  a  short  time  thereafter  they  cam  to  a  glen. 
The  lass  being  weary,  she  sat  hersen  doon. 
"Rise  up,  my  brave  lassie,  and  let  us  gang  on. 
For  the  sun  will  be  gone  doon  before  we  get  hame." 

"My  shoes  are  all  torn  and  my  feet  are  all  rent, 
I'm  weary  wi*  travellin*  and  like  to  faint. 
Were  it  not  for  the  sake  o'  ye're  kind  companie 
I  wad  lie  in  this  desert  untU  I  wad  dee." 

f 
In  a  short  time  thereafter  they  cam  to  a  grove 

Where  the  flocks  they  were  feeding  in  numberless  droves. 
While  Alan  stood  musing,  his  flocks  for  to  see, 
"Step  on,"  said  the  lassie,  "That's  na  pleasure  to  me." 

Twa  Ixmnie  laddies  wi'  green  tartan  trews 
And  twa  bonnie  lassies  were  butting  the  yoes. 
"Te're  welccone,  hcmored  master,  ye're  welc(»ne  again. 
This  while  we've  been  lookin'  for  ye  comin'  hame." 

"Put  in  your  yoes,  lassies,  and  gang  awa  hame. 
I  hae  brought  a  swan  f rae  the  north  to  tame. 
Her  feathers  are  fallen,  and  where  can  she  fly? 
The  best  bed  in  all  the  house,  there  shaU  she  lie." 

The  laddies  did  whistle  and  the  laddies  did  sing. 
And  they  made  to  tiie  lassie  a  broad  bed  of  down. 
The  lassie's  heart  was  doon  and  couldna'  well  raise 
Till  mony  a  lad  and  lass  came  in  wi'  mony  a  phrase. 

Early  next  morning  he  led  her  to  the  high. 
And  bad  her  look  round  her  as  far  as  she  could  spy. 
"These  lands  and  possessions — X  have  no  debt  to  pay. 
Te  scarce  can  walk  round  them  in  a  long  summer's  day." 


m^^ 


The  Dsclenz  of  Ballad-Sinoiko 

"O  Alan.  O  Alan,  I'm  indebted  to  thee. 
A  debt,  dear  Alan,  I  never  can  pay. 

0  Alan,  O  Alan,  how  cam  ye  to  me. 
Sure  I'm  not  worthy  your  bride  for  to  be." 

"Why  call  ye  me  Alan  when  Sandy's  my  name? 
Why  call  ye  me  Alan?    Ye're  surely  to  blame. 
For  don't  ye  remember,  when  at  school  wi'  me, 

1  was  hated  by  all  the  rest,  lovM  by  thee? 

"How  aft  have  I  fed  on  your  bread  and  your  cheese 
WImu  I  had  naething  else  but  a  handful  o'  peas. 
Tour  hard-hearted  f  aither  did  hunt  me  wi'  dogs. 
They  rave  all  my  bare  heels  and  tore  all  my  rags." 

"Is  this  my  dear  Sandy  whom  I  loved  so  dear? 
I  have  not  heard  of  you  for  mony  a  year. 
When  all  the  rest  went  to  bed  sleep  was  f  rae  me 
For  thinldn'  whatever  had  become  o'  thee." 

"In  love  we  began  and  in  love  we  will  end. 
And  in  joy  and  mirth  we  will  our  days  spend. 
And  a  trip  once  more  to  yoiur  faither  well  go 
To  relieve  the  old  farmer  of  his  toil  and  woe." 

Wi'  men  and  maidservants  to  wait  them  upon, 
Awa'  in  a  chaise  to  her  faither  they've  gone. 
The  laddie  went  foremost,  that  brave  hig^iland  loon. 
Till  th^  cam  to  the  gate  that  leads  to  the  toon. 

When  they  cam  to  the  gate  he  gave  a  loud  roar, 
"Ckxne  doon,  gentle  farmer,  Katherine's  at  your  doorr 
He  looked  out  at  the  window  and  saw  his  datigliter's  face. 
Wi'  his  hat  in  hu  hmd  he  made  a  great  phrase. 

MS 


'-»•»»"'■"■  • 


u 


.'i 

it 


M 


(t 


The  Qtjest  of  ths  Ballad 

"Haud  on  your  hat,  faither,  and  don't  let  it  fa*. 
It's  not  for  the  peacock  to  bow  to  the  craw." 
"O  haud  your  tongue,  Sandy,  and  don't  ye  taunt  me. 
My  daughter's  nae  worthy  your  bride  for  to  be." 

Then  he's  held  the  bridle  reins  until  he  cam  doon. 
And  then  he  conveyed  him  into  a  fine  room. 
Wi'  the  best  o*  Scotch  whiskey  they  drank  o'  a  toast. 
And  the  son  and  the  faither  drank  baith  in  one  glass. 

In  addition  to  the  complete  song  thus  fortuitously  pre- 
served in  James  Isaac's  memory,  there  were  snatches  and 
fragments  of  many  sorts,  dry  bones  which  the  old  man 
had  neither  interest  nor  inspiration  to  reanimate.  As  a 
last  resort  I  enquired  about  the  ballad  sheets  which  had 
been  held  in  such  high  esteem  by  his  f anuly,  but  he  could 
not  account  for  one  of  them,  nor  did  he  seem  in  the  least 
disturbed  by  his  failure  to  do  so.  Broadside  sheets  were 
very  useful  in  their  day,  but  when  ballad-singing  went  out 
of  fashion  they  were  tossed  aside  like  a  yesterday's  news- 
paper, and  they  disappeared  just  as  surely  and  just  as 
quietly  as  the  yesterday's  newspapers  do.  It  is  very  easy 
to  blame  the  careless  possessors  for  their  failure  to  become 
imbued  with  an  antiquarian  zeal  in  exchange  for  the  active 
and  contemporary  interest  which  was  ceasing  to  be  a  part 
of  their  attitude  toward  the  ballad,  but  to  do  so  is  entirely 
unjust.  When  the  change  came  th^  treated  their  ballads, 
including  broadside  sheets  when  they  happened  to  possess 
them,  as  we  treat  our  worn-out  hats  and  coats  and  the 
popular  novels  that  we  read  with  enthusiasm  a  year  ago. 

Thus  we  have  as  one  reason  for  the  decline  of  bi^Uad- 
singing  in  this  representative  district  the  influx  of  more 
modem  music  and  methods  of  entertainment,  added  to  the 

284 


Thb  Dxclznx  of  B>i  lad-Sinoiko 

increuing  suspicion  that  ballads  were  becoming  old-fash- 
ioned and  out-of-date.  A  second  reason  nuy  receive  pre- 
liminary illustrati(m  in  <me  of  the  experiences  of  old  Bob 
LangiUe.  Bob,  whose  capacious  memory  was  charged 
with  ballads  received  throuj^  the  r^^ular  channels  of  oral 
transmission,  had  had  one  tragic  experience  with  a  broad- 
side sheet,  a  piece  of  paper  containing  the  sentimental 
ballad  of  "The  Wreck  of  the  Atlantic,"  which  I  have  dis- 
cussed in  an  earlier  chapter.  He  had,  fortunately,  pro- 
cured the  services  of  some  "sdiolar"  to  read  it  for  him 
while  he  committed  it  to  memory,  but  the  paper  itself  had 
been  lost  in  a  most  irritating  manner,  and  Bob  went  into 
a  paroxysm  of  grief  and  rage  as  he  told  me  about  it 
"When  I  think,"  said  he,  with  a  vain  attempt  to  be  cahn, 
"of  how  I  lost  that  ballat,  I  can't  keep  the  tears  out  o'  me 
eyes.  John  Forbes  up  the  River  was  craay  to  lam  it,  an* 
he  got  me  to  lend  it  to  him  fer  jiit  two  days.  Then  I 
didn't  see  him  fer  three  weeks,  when  he  comes  ridin'  along 
on  his  horse,  an'  thinkin'  to  git  by  the  house  without  me 
seein'  him.  But  I  goes  out  en  the  road  an'  says,  'John 
Forbes,'  says  I,  Vhere's  my  ballat?'  "Bob,'  says  he,  'yer 
ballat's  lost,  but  I'm  willin'  to  pay  ye  fer  it.'  'Ye  damn' 
old  scoundrel,'  says  I,  'If  ye  wasn't  an  old  man  I'd  haul  ye 
down  off  yer  horse  an'  kick  ye.'— "But,"  concluded  Bob 
in  a  heart-broken  tcme,  "I  never  seen  me  baUat*  from  that 
day  to  this." 

The  person  who  displayed  this  lively  and  extraordinary 
interest  in  the  literature  of  an  elder  day  was,  as  we  have 
seen  in  an  earlier  chapter,  an  octogenarian  who  lived  just 

*  It  wffl  be  noUeed  that  Bob  conalstentty  referred  to  the  bttwddde  dwet  u 
•  <%idl«t"  This  Illtutrstes  the  tennlnologr  of  all  the  people  of  Ui  dus.  A 
bdlad  prbited  on  a  sheet  U  •  '%idkd"  or  'nMlkt,"  and  a  ballad  known  onlr 
throng  oral  tradition  is  "an  old  song."  Needless  to  say,  one  practtcaDr  nevn 
ettcxnmtcTs  the  former  term.  Printed  baOads  were  drcnlated  onlr  in  tb 
rarest  cases.  ' 

9$8 


I 


M. 


i       1 


ThX  QuStT  OV  THS  BiOLAO 

outiide  the  Tilkge  of  T«t«inagouciie  with  two  niten  only 
a  trilBe  kit  andoit  than  himself.  To  him  the  balUds  of 
centuries  ago  were  as  replete  with  interest  as  they  had  been 
to  the  simple  folk  of  the  community  in  the  .i&j  i  before 
railroads  and  newspapers,  and  he  had  at  all  times  an  ap- 
predative  and  hannonious  audience  in  his  two  old  sisters, 
who  were  also  pleased  to  cMisider  that  the  world  had  not 
yet  advanced  beyond  the  seomd  quarter  of  the  nineteenth 
century. 

Bob's  humble  cottage  was  situated  about  a  mile  from  the 
residence  of  that  slave  of  fashion,  James  Isaac  Macdonald. 
The  two  old  max  were  about  the  same  age,  th^  were  in  a 
general  way  members  of  the  same  conmunity,  and  in  their 
younger  days  they  had  both  been  earnest  and  enthusiastic 
singers  of  popular  ballads.  Now,  in  their  old  age,  I  found 
one  of  them  with  his  enthusiasm  unabated,  while  the  other 
had  to  ransack  the  dusty  shelves  of  his  memory  to  find 
even  the  names  of  a  few  of  the  ballads  that  he  had  sung 
many  years  ago. 

I  have  already  said  that  James  Isaac  was  not  one  of 
those  superior  perstms  who  consider  the  popular  ballads 
quaint,  old-fashicmed,  and  absurdly  naive.  He  thoa^t 
of  them,  on  the  contrary,  as  very  good  songs  for  the  day 
in  which  they  had  flourished,  and  believed,  not  unnatur^ 
a%,  that  they  had  disappeared  before  the  advance  of 
newer  songs  of  a  higher  order  of  culture.  His  tone,  when 
he  referred  to  them,  was  neitiier  enthusiastic  nor  supercil- 
ious, and  he  repeated  or  iescribed  them  in  so  far  as  his 
memory  would  serve  him,  with  the  usual  remark  that  tiiey 
were  "very  good  old  songs." 

On  one  occasion,  which  I  menticm  not  for  its  own  sake, 
but  for  that  of  the  ccmtrasted  occasicm  which  I  shall  go  (m 

U6 


•''^*'~-  -- 


Thx  Dbcldis  or  Ballad-Sinoimo 

to  relate,  Junet  Immc  happeoed  to  recollect  the  name  of  a 
ballad  which  he  had  been  wont  to  sing  before  hit  haint  of 
life  had  changed.  The  ballad  was  entitled  "Gkngyk," 
and  the  old  man,  with  a  painful  effort  of  memory,  quoted 
a  itania  or  two  and  a  few  diBconneeted  lines.  It  was,  as 
he  assured  me  in  his  unimpassioned  way,  "a  Tery  good 
song,  and  set  to  rery  nice  music" 

A  week  or  two  later,  when  T  was  spending  a  busy  af  ta^ 
noon  in  the  omipany  of  dd  JBob,  I  mentioned  this  ballad 
and  quoted  a  few  lines  that  James  Isaac  had  remembered. 
"Ah  yes,"  said  Bob  sadly,  "I  mind  of  "Gkngyle"  weU 
enon^  But  I  don't  know  wht^her  I  can  sing  it  for  ye  or 
not  I  git  so  mad  an'  sorry  every  tioM  I  thmk  o'  that 
sneak  of  a  Glenj^^jle  that  it's  jist  as  mudi  as  I  can  do  to  go 
on  singin*.  If  ye're  anzktus  to  hear  it,  though,  I'll  see 
what  I  can  do." 

I  protested,  weakly,  against  any  needless  laoerati(m  of 
Bob's  feelings,  but  he  had  Already  closed  his  eyes  and 
knotted  his  brows.  "Ill  start  it  for  ye,  anyhow,"  he  an- 
nounced ha&tily,  and  the  roar  of  th>  >;^  ,>niug  stai  au  im- 
mediately foUowed: 

In  yokider  isle  beyond  Argyle, 
Where  flocks  and  herds  were  plenty. 

Lived  a  rich  squire  whose  sister  fair 
Was  the  flower  of  all  that  country. 

The  kni^^t  Sir  T-'eil  had  wooed  her  l.ag. 

Expecting  soon  to  marry. 
A  hig^iland  laird  his  suit  preferred, 

Young,  handsome,  brisk,  and  airy. 


S87 


''i 


H 


1 


r,  n 


* 


r 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

Long  she  respected  brave  Sir  Neil 

Because  he  wooed  sincerely. 
But  as  soon  as  she  saw  the  young  Glengvle 

He  won  her  most  entirely. 

Till  some  lies  to  her  brother  cam^ 

That  Neil  had  boasted  proudly 
Of  favors  from  that  lady  young, 

Which  made  lum  vow  thus  rudely: 

"I  swear  by  all  our  friendships  past. 

This  hour  again  next  morning 
This  knight  or  me  shaU  lose  our  lives. 

He  shall  know  who  he's  scorning." 

Thus  the  tragic  train  of  events  is  set  in  motion.  Sir 
Neil,  the  most  generous  aian  and  the  best  swordsman  in 
all  Scotland,  is  forced  against  his  will  to  fig^i  with  the 
brother  of  ids  sweetheart,  whom  he  kills  in  <  of  his 
efforts  merely  to  disarm  him.  Then  the  treacherous  Glen- 
gyle  comes  upon  the  scene,  taunts  Sir  Neil,  and  dares  him 
to  a  second  duel.  Sir  Neil  protests  vigorously  against  the 
necessity  of  killing  aU  his  friends  in  single  combat,  and 

WhUe  talking  thus  he  quit  his  gua^w 

Glengyle  in  haste  advanc^ 
And  pierced  his  generous,  manly  heart. 

The  sword  rig^t  through  him  glanc^ 

The  ballad  was  suddenly  interrupted  at  this  point  by  a 
howl  of  rage  from  the  singer.  "O  GodI"  shouted  Bob, 
"why  aint  I  standin*  right  behind  that  Glengyle  with  a 
sword  in  me  hand?  Wouldn't  I  drive  it  through  he's 
treacherous  body  I" 

««8 


^'^  -^  ■ 


jmaim 


Thx  Dbcuks  of  Bazxajd-Sinoino 

The  ballad  was  ultimately  finished,  but  not  until  Bob's 
grief  and  anger  were  partly  assuaged  by  an  imaginary 
torture  and  demolition  of  the  scoundrelly  Glengj^le.  Of 
small  concern  was  it  to  Bob  that  he  was  singing  "a  good 
iBong,  set  to  very  nice  music"  The  tragic  tide  of  misun- 
derstanding, treachery,  and  miurder  was  to  him  a  true  re- 
port of  human  relationships  in  whidi,  by  virtue  of  his 
function  as  relater,  he  was  ctmstrained  to  bear  a  vicarious 
part 

Now  that  old  Bob  is  upon  the  stage  again  for  the  mo- 
ment he  may  be  employed  for  the  additional  function  of 
introducing,  in  a  general  way,  his  fellow-actors  of  French 
extraction  ^o  have  played  so  important  a  part  in  the  task 
of  keeping  ballads  alive  during  these  latter  days.  It  will 
have  htea  noticed  that  the  recurrent  name  in  these  pages 
is  Langille,  and  I  should  say  that  fully  three-fourths  of 
the  ballads  in  my  collection  have  been  procured  f rmn 
singers  answering  to  this  name  or  to  (me  equally  Gallic  in 
its  origin.  It  must  not  be  supposed,  of  course,  that  the 
Nova  Scotians  of  French  extractioE.  omtinue  with  one 
consent  to  entertain  their  friends  with  old  "RngUA  and 
Scotch  popular  ballads,  in  blissful  indifference  to  tiie  fact 
that  we  have  entored  upon  a  new  era  of  civilization.  There 
are  only  a  few  old  men  and  women,  even  of  this  race,  who 
are  tiius  minded  to  proclaim  their  affinities  with  the  past; 
but,  with  the  aid  of  these  survivors,  ballad-lore  has  ling- 
ered with  the  Frendi  a  full  generation  after  it  was  c(Hn- 
pletely  slou|^ied  off  by  the  Scotch  people  with  wlum  they 
were  associated  in  the  same  general  community.  To  ac- 
count for  this  fact  I  shall  have  to  give  a  brief  sketch  of  tiie 
French  migraticms  to  northern  Nova  Scotia. 

This  district  was  settled  during  the  latter  half  of  the 


-  •-  '•■  "  ■■iiiiii^iaiaiiiiriif  irriigifi 


-'-^^'^f'-' 


aafs 


-m^L. 


m 


rv 


WA 


The  Quest  of  the  Ballad 

eighteenth  coitury  by  Scotch  immigrants.  A  large  num- 
ber of  these  people  took  up  lands  in  the  mountainous 
regions  twenty  or  thirty  mites  inland,  while  others  settled 
on  the  sea-coiut  or  on  the  shores  of  the  harbors  and  rirers 
with  which  this  coast  is  plentifully  indented;  and  the  choice 
of  settlement  was,  as  I  believe  it  always  is,  largely  decided 
by  the  antecedent  situation  of  the  settler  in  the  fatherland, 
since  one  who  has  lived  among  mountains  in  the  parent 
country  will  naturally  look  for  mountains  when  he  comes 
to  a  new  land,  and  one  who  has  been  reared  within  sight 
and  sound  of  the  ocean  will  still  desire  a  daUy  assurance 
of  the  same  inscrutable  presence.  These  Nova  Scotian 
settlements  were,  for  some  time,  purely  Scotch;  but  in  tiie 
first  quarter  of  the  nineteenth  century  a  new  element  ap- 
peared in  the  shape  of  a  body  of  FreiKh  Huguoiots,  who, 
after  various  rather  obscure  vicissitudes,  had  finally  de- 
cided to  put  the  ocean  between  themselves  and  the  land 
which  had  proved  so  unnatural  a  home.  They,  for  the 
most  part,  chose  to  settle  among  tbe  Scotch  people  vrho 
were  dwelling  along  or  near  the  sea-coast. 

The  antecedents  of  these  people  will,  I  suppose,  always 
remain  a  comparative  mystery.  They  sternly  repudiate 
the  name  of  French,  and  insist  on  being  regarded  as  Swiss. 
As  I  have  nuuiy  exceUent  reasons  for  wishing  to  maifit^iii 
friendly  relations  with  them  I  s(»netimes  mtAae  a  point  of 
referring  casually  to  their  Swiss  ancertry;  and  upon  (me 
occasion  I  was  rewarded  with  a  soluti<Hi  of  the  puzzle. 
This  was  given  to  me  by  an  old  man  of  the  third  genera- 
tion from  the  first  settlers. 

"De  old  folks,"  he  expkined,  "was  livin'  in  France  at 
de  time,  and  Bonyparte  made  known  to  dem  dat  6ej  must 
jine  Rome,  leave  de  country,  or  die.    Dey  would  not  jine 


nmiSnSSlMBBiMmmaiiimKmamm 


The  Declinz  of  Ballad-Sinoino 

Rome,  an'  dey  was  onwillin'  to  die,  so  dey  left  de  country 
and  made  dere  way  to  Switzerland,  an'  when  dey  crossed 
over  to  Nova  Scotia  dey  crossed  from  Switaerland,  an' 
dey  was  den  Swiss  people." 

I  have  received,  from  other  representatives  of  this  tians- 
muted  stock,  various  hints  which  indicate  the  same  general 
attitude  towards  the  situation.  But  whether  this  was  '^he 
exact  state  of  the  case  or  not  it  is  at  least  certain  that  wnen 
they  came  to  their  new  home  across  the  Atlantic  they  came 
with  no  love  for  France  grayea  upon  their  hearts.  If  they 
had  any  legends  or  customs  taken  from  French  soil  they 
made  no  e£fort  to  retain  them.  Their  language,  at  the 
time  of  their  arrival  in  Nova  Scotia,  was  a  pat«»8  ci 
French,  but  as  soon  as  they  conveni«itly  could  they 
dropped  this  in  favor  of  the  speech  of  tiieir  new  nei|^bors. 
The  children  of  the  third  generation,  now  old  men  and 
women,  are  loyal  subjects  of  Great  %itain.  They  speak 
with  fervor  of  the  mighty  generalship  of  Wellingten  at 
the  Battle  of  Waterloo,  where,  according  to  <me  of  tiwir 
versions  whidi  I  have  already  presented  tram  the  pomt  of 
view  of  Little  Ned  Langille,  the  vict<Mry  was  won  through 
the  pr  ess  of  "de  Scotch  Greys."  They  l»ve  legends, 
also,  of  Wolfe's  great  stroke  in  ^be  conquest  of  Canada, 
and  it  was  one  of  their  most  eloquent  narrators  that  de- 
livered the  glowing  exordium  to  his  account  of  the  battle: 
"Gineral  Wolfe  climbed  de  tredpice,  camped  on  de  Plains 
of  Abraham,  an'  prayed  for  night  or  Blucher  to  come." 

The  French  settlers,  then,  as  we  may  agree  to  call  them, 
1(^  no  time  in  dropping  their  own  language  and  customs 
and  in  adopting  tiiose  of  their  new  nei^bors;  and,  as 
they  were  passionately  fond  of  music,  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant of  their  new  acquisitions  was  that  of  the  popular 

t41 


.djgr, 


^  \ 


I  ■ 


\ 


The  Quxrr  or  thx  Ballad 

ballads  in  vogue  among  those  neighbors.  This  process 
was  accomplished,  not  by  the  sturdy  farmers  and  Grod- 
fearing  citizens  who  formed  the  more  prosperous  element 
of  the  new  race,  but  by  the  merrier  and  more  carnal- 
minded  ones  who  were  employed  in  great  numbers  by  the 
Scotch  as  housonaids  and  farm-hands.  A  very  natural 
result  followed.  The  Scotdi  people  gradually  abandoned 
a  practice  that  was  becoming  one  of  the  chief  pastimes  of 
their  servants. 

Speaking  very  roughly,  then,  one  may  say  this.  The 
second  generation  of  the  French  settlers  mcmopolized  the 
English  and  Scotch  ballads  in  vogue  among  their  neigh- 
bors and  passed  them  on  to  the  third  generation,  the  mem- 
bers of  which  continued  to  sing  them  with  unabated  zeal; 
but  whoi  the  children  of  the  fourth  generation  arrived  at 
years  of  conventional  discretion  they  fell  in  with  the  spirit 
of  the  new  times  and  began  to  suspect  that  ballad-singing 
was  one  of  the  simple  pastimes  of  a  ruder  age.  By  far  the 
greater  number  of  the  ballads  in  my  collection  have  been 
procured  from  men  and  womm  of  the  third  generation,  of 
whom  there  are  still  a  few  survivors  ranging  from  seventy- 
five  to  ninety  years  of  age. 

This  general  statement  has  received  its  illustration  in 
many  of  the  individual  cases  that  I  have  discussed  in  the 
preceding  chapters,  where  the  French  name  Langille  fig- 
ures so  largely.  The  nomen  Langille  includes  many 
branches  or  families  in  the  north  shore  counties  of  Pictou 
and  Colchester,  and  it  was  represented,  a  few  years  back, 
by  such  notable  personages  as  Bob  and  Little  Ned,  who 
lived  in  villages  separated  by  several  miles  and  who  were 
unaware  of  each  other's  existence.  But  the  most  impor- 
tant person  of  the  name,  f  khu  the  point  of  view  of  the 


ioiiaHii 


mt 


Thx  Dbclinx  of  Ballai>>Sinoino 

preaent  difCuidoD,  is  Edward  the  father  of  Little  Ned  and 
the  8(m  of  one  of  the  original  lettlers.  Old  Edward  was 
gathered  to  his  fathers  Icmg  before  my  recollection,  but  I 
have  heard  miidi  concerning  him  f  ran  his  children.  He 
loMns  hermcally  in  my  imaginatim  as  the  mi^^ty  bard 
iHx>  "could  sing  all  day  for  ye  an'  never  sing  the  same 
song  twict,"  and  it  is  a  fact  to  be  recorded  without  further 
commoit  that  he  bore  so  marked  a  resonblance  to  another 
of  the  great  figures  of  the  past  that  he  was  known  in  the 
community  as  "old  Napole<HL"  TUs  great  man,  accord- 
ing to  the  account  givm  by  his  children,  spent  his  youth  in 
the  employ  of  a  Scotch  family,  where  he  proct.ded  m  vic- 
torious f  adiion  to  annex  and  appropriate  a  long  list  of 
English  and  Scottish  popular  ballads. 

It  would  be  possible  to  go  on  heaping  up  instances  of 
tiiis  transferoice  of  a  body  of  folk-lore  to  the  members  of 
an  alien  race,  but  I  have  probably  said  eaouf^  to  fix  the 
impressicm  which  I  have  givm  in  scattered  fashion 
throug^KMit  the  preceding  chapters,  and  I  may  therefore 
proceed  to  the  third  cause  of  the  decline  and  fall  of  ballad- 
singing  in  my  particular  district  The  first  two  causes  that 
I  have  assigned  in  this  chapter— namely,  the  superseding 
of  the  ballads  by  more  modem  smigs  and  the  abandoning 
of  them  by  a  superior  and  disdainful  race — have  been  kqpt 
pretty  ccmstantly  before  the  reader;  but  the  destructive 
forae  that  I  am  now  to  consider,  namely,  disapproval  of 
ballad-singing  from  religimis  motives,  I  have  had  occaacm 
to  suggest  (mly  in  (me  or  two  instances. 

Three  summers  ago  I  spoit  some  time  in  canvassing  the 
Scotch  c(nnmunities  in  the  interior  of  the  northern  coun- 
ties, but  without  success.  Every^^re  I  found  testimony 
to  the  fact  that  ballads  had  been  song  in  the  past,  and  it 

s«s 


Ths  Qusn  OF  THX  Ballad 

will  be  remembered  that  old  James  Iiaac  Macdonald'a 
home  at  ibe  West  River,  ^Hiich  is  one  of  the  comimmitica 
under  discussion,  literally  teemed  with  ballads  in  tlie  by- 
gtme  days  of  his  youth.  Many  of  the  persons  in  this  part 
of  the  country,  seeing  in  me  a  brother  Scot,  were  inclined 
to  regard  me  with  friendliness  and  ccmfidence,  and  I  had 
every  opportunity  of  discovering  ballads  if  there  had  beea 
any  to  discover.  I  have  just  been  speaking  of  the  fact 
tiiat  the  Scotch  people  nearer  the  sea-coast  had  given  up 
ballad-singing  when  they  found  that  they  were  sharing  the 
pastime  with  a  lower  order  of  beings;  but  this  explanati<m 
will  not  cover  the  case  of  the  inland  districts,  where  there 
are  practically  no  people  of  French  descent,  or  of  any  de- 
scent except  Scotch. 

The  earli»  settlers  in  these  districts  were  not  a  very 
sober  or  God-fearing  people.  They  had  no  ministers  and 
no  religious  services  during  the  first  years  of  their  settle- 
ment, axkd  they  were,  un  the  whole,  much  more  inclined  to 
the  pleasures  of  the  fiddle  and  the  rum-keg  than  to  the 
more  sober  comforts  of  religion.  An  admirable  acccHmt 
of  these  early  settlers  is  given  by  the  late  Rev.  George 
.Patters(»i,  in  his  "History  of  the  County  of  Pictou,"  and 
I  i^il  quote  from  his  book  a  brief  passage  in  whidi  he 
himself  is  qtKiting  from  the  diary  of  Dr.  McGregor,  the 
first  minister  who  appeared  in  tiiat  part  of  the  country. 
I>  McGregor  was  sent  out,  in  1786,  by  the  Synod  of 
Scofiand,  and  his  frst  religious  service,  which  was  held 
"in  S<|uire  Patterson's  bam,"  he  thus  describes: 

The  Squire  gave  orders  to  lay  slabs  and  planks  in  his 
bam  for  seats  to  the  congregaticm;  and  iMsfore  eleven 
o'clock  next  morning  I  saw  the  people  gathering  to  hear 
liie  Gospel  f«»n  the  lips  a4  a  stranger  who  felt  few  of  its 

m9w 


The  Itecxnnt  or  Baixad-Sinoiiio 

consolatians,  and  bad  but  litde  hope  of  communicating 
tbem  to  his  hearen.  None  cane  by  land  ouept  certain 
fawliei  who  Mred  a  few  mike  to  the  right  and  left  of 
Sqoire  Pattrann's.  Thoae  who  came  from  the  louth  ride 
of  ifa  harbour  and  from  the  river  had  to  come  in  boats  and 
canocf  oontainiBg  from  one  to  seven  or  eig^t  perscms.  The 
omgf^^tiaa,  however,  was  not  large;  for  numbers  could 
not  get  rewiy  i^eir  craft,  the  notice  was  so  diort  I  ob- 
serve that  the  oonduet  of  some  of  tiiem,  onninff  from  the 
shore  to  the  bam,  was  as  if  they  had  never  heard  of  a  Sab- 
bath. I  heard  loud  talking  1^  laughing,  and  riium^  ond 
whistling  even  before  th^  reached  the  shore.  They  be- 
haved, however,  vntii  decency  so  long  as  I  continued  to 
spMk,  and  srane  of  ibtm  were  eviden%^  much  affected.  I 
endeavoioed  to  ex^rai  to  than  in  the  forenoon  in  £ng^ 
lish,  **Tlus  »  a  faiuftil  saying  and  worthy  of  all  accepta- 
tion, tiutt  Cairist  JeMS  came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners,** 
and  in  tibie  aftornoen,  in  Gaelic,  "The  S(m  of  Man  is  c(»ne 
to  sedE  and  to  save  tiut  which  is  lost."  The  first  words 
wiaxb  I  heard,  after  pnmoui^ng  the  blessing,  were  from 
a  gentleman  of  tiie  tarai^  callmff  to  \aa  compamons,  "Come, 
come,  kt  us  go  to  Hw  gros  wop";  but  instead  of  going 
with  ten,  &ey  came  toward  me  to  bid  me  welcome  to  the 
settlement,  and  he  cone  Imnsdf  at  last. 


From  a  r^cmerate  pmnt  of  view  this  is  a  gloomy  pic- 
ture, relieved  only  at  the  dose  by  a  glmipse  of  that  hos- 
pitality which  is  the  instiact  of  ev«ry  Scotdiaum  whether 
he  be  dtizen  or  oeAmr.  But  as  for  me  I  have  a  wholly  un- 
regenerate  longing  to  know  what  songs  tiiese  impiom 
Scots  were  chanting  to  the  swing  of  the  paddle  and  the 
oar  as  they  came  down  the  river  on  that  vidated  Sabbath 
morning  a  hundred  and  thirty  years  ago.  The  Scriptural 
lore  which  they  were  to  recdve  is  without  vaaiableness  or 
shadow  of  turning,  but  tiw  "loud  ta&ing  and  laughing  and 
whistling  and  singing"  were  soon  to  give  place  to  a  godly 

S40 


I 


Tkb  Qumt  of  thb  Ballad 

joknuuty  and  deeorum,  and  the  place  whidi  knew  the  an- 
cient foUE-lore  of  Scotland  mM  to  know  it  no  more. 

Theae  eariy  settlen  had  goodly  store  of  balladf  with 
than  when  they  came  from  Seodand,  and  new  arrivala 
were  CMktiniidfy  brmging  new  specimens  and  f redi  ver- 
sioiu,  so  tiiat  it  may  he  seen  that  ballad-singing  had  its  day 
among  l^ese  ex3es  who  were  dinging  passionately  to  the 
customs  and  diversions  widch  reminded  them  of  their  lost 
motherland.  But,  as  fortunately,  perhaps,  for  the  eternal 
welfue  of  their  immortal  sinils  as  it  is  unfortunate  for  the 
purposes  of  our  study,  they  were  presently  brov^t  under 
the  influence  of  a  xealous  band  of  ministers  who  came 
from  Scotland  in  increasing  numbers  as  the  nineteenth 
omtury  proceeded,  and  who  set  themselves  ardently  to  the 
task  of  convoling  these  heathen  from  the  error  of  their 
ways.  Now,  as  we  all  know,  a  ccmverted  Scotchman  has 
no  dealings  with  the  merrier  aspects  of  life.  He  may  "take 
a  wee  drap"  occasicmally  "for  the  stomach's  sake" — a  pure- 
ly serious  proceeding,  to  be  regarded  as  a  necessary  pre- 
caution against  ilhwss — but  the  singing  of  light  and  im- 
modest songs  can  have  no  place  in  his  scheme  of  things. 
It  cannot  help  the  body,  and  it  imperils  the  immortal  soul. 
Therefore,  as  religion  advanced  ballad-singing  receded, 
and  it  was  resigned  the  more  easily  in  that  its  place  was 
being  filled  by  the  noble  music  and  stirring  words  of  tiie 
pan^thrases  and  the  Psalms  of  David. 

In  many  parts  of  the  country  I  have  received  good  evi- 
dence of  this  supplanting  of  the  ballads.  A  thorou^y 
typical  case  is  that  of  a  farmer  named  William  McKay, 
whom  I  lunre  known  for  many  years.  He  lives  in  one  of 
these  aaland  Sco^  c(«miunities,  and  he  has  aided  me  in 
fixing  several  of  tte  impmsions  that  I  have  been  discuss- 


Tbs  Diczjnx  or  BALLAD-Snroiiro 

ing.  Hit  father,  now  long  deeeued,  wm  oooe  pouetaed 
of  ft  Tftried  Msortment  of  Scotch  bftUads  idiidi  he  uag 
freely  and  merrily  during  Williun'i  own  diiMhood;  but 
preeently  he  became  a  "profesior"  of  religiaa,  and  then  he 
completely  renounced  hit  balladt  and  ttemly  f  orebade  hit 
diildren  ever  to  pollute  tiieir  mouths  with  thete  profane 
and  godlett  tongs.  My  friend  had  himtelf  learned  a  few 
of  thete  tcmgt  before  the  f ountaint  of  secular  mutic  had 
become  dry,  but  all  that  he  hat  erer  been  able  to  recollect 
for  me  it  a  itanaa  or  two  from  "Our  Goodman.**  He  it 
about  fifty  yeart  old,  and  is  a  merry,  companionable  per- 
ton  who  hat  gone  out  into  the  world  at  timet  and  com- 
pletely tlou£^ied  off  the  fanaticism  bequeathed  by  hit  fa- 
ther, therefore  he  would  have  had  no  tort  of  objecticm  to 
tinging  the  balladt  he  once  knew — ^if  he  could  only  have 
remembered  them.  But  they  had  been  denied  him  to  long 
that  at  length  they  had  patted  from  hit  pottetticm  forever. 
I  have  now  outlined  what  I  believe  to  be  the  three  main 
reatont  for  the  almost  complete  ditappearance  of  popular 
ballads  in  a  country  that  was  once  rich  in  possibilities  for 
tlw  collector.  Unhappily  there  was  no  collector  to  enrich 
himself  with  these  almost  boundless  possibilities,  and  the 
scheme  of  things  has  allowed  me  only  a  belated  appearance 
<m  the  scoie,  with  the  opportunity  of  gathering  s(nne  scat- 
tered fragments  and  the  doubtful  privilege  of  inquiring 
into  the  various  catises  whidi  have  conspired,  under  the 
leadership  of  Civilization,  to  bring  about  the  presoit  de- 
pleted condition  of  folk-lore. 


Mr 


Illlllli    , 

3  3286  0?^l<^«^^ft  9 


